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Departmental Ditties 
and Ballads and Bar- 
rack Room Ballads 

By Rudyard Kipling 




Garden City New York 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

1919 



i n mi ii 11111 1 11 m i i h 'ii iwiiiiiiii Hi iii i iw iiiwM niiMii— ■ ii— m 



4«£ 



6* 



Ballads and Barrack Room Ballads 

Copyright, 1892, 

By MACMILLAN AND CO. 



New Edition, with Additional Poems 

Copyright, 1893, 

By MACMILLAN AND CO. 



Copyright, 1899, 
By RUDYARD KIPLING 



Departmental Ditties and Other Pobms, 
Revised, April, 1899. 

Copyright, 1899, 

By RUDYARD KIPLING 



3 1 Half 



1 3 



CONTENTS 

DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES 

PACK 

General Summary 3 

Army Headquarters 5 

Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink .... 8 

Delilah 10 

A Legend of the Foreign Office 14 

The Story of Uriah 17 

The Post that Fitted 19 

A Code of Morals 22 

Public Waste 26 

What Happened 29 

The Man Who Could Wriie 32 

Pink Dominoes 35 

Municdpal 38 

The Last Department 41 

OTHER VERSES 

My Rival 45 

To the Unknown Goddess . 48 

The Rupaiyat of Omar Kal'vin 50 

Pagett, M. P S3 

La Nuit Blanche 56 

The Lovers' Litany 61 

A Ballad of Burial 63 

v 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Overland Mail 66 

Divided Destinies 68 

The Masque of Plenty 7 1 

The Mare's Nest 78 

The Ballad of Fisher's Boarding-house .... 81 

Possibilities 86 

Arithmetic on the Frontier 89 

The Song of the Women 9 1 

The Betrothed 94 

A Ballade of Jakko Hill 99 

The Plea of the Simla Dancers 101 

"As the Bell Clinks" 104 

Christmas in India 108 

The Grave of the Hundred Head ...... hi 

An Old Song 116 

Certain Maxims of Hafiz 1 20 

The Moon of Other Days 126 

The Fall of Jock Gillespie 128 

What the People Said 131 

The Undertaker's Horse 134 

One Viceroy Resigns 137 

The Galley-slave 146 

A Tale of Two Cities 151 

In Springtime 4 155 

Giffen's Debt 157 

Two Months. In June 16c 

Two Months. In September 161 

L'envoi . . 162 

BALLADS 

The Ballad of East and West 3 

The Last Suttee 12 



CONTENTS vll 

PAGE 

The Ballad of the King's Mercy 18 

The Ballad of the. King's Jest 25 

With Scindia to Delhi . . 31 

The Ballad of Boh Da Thone 40 

The Lament of the Border Cattle Thief ... 53 

The Rhyme of the Three Captains 56 

The Ballad of the "Clampherdown" ..... 64 

The Ballad of the "Bolivar" 69 

The Lost Legion 74 

The Sacrifice of Er-Heb 77 

The Dove of Dacca 88 

The Explanation 90 

An Answer . . . . , 91 

The Gift of the Sea 92 

EVARRA AND HlS GODS 90 

The Conundrum of the Workshops ioo 

In the Neolithic Age ......... 104 

The Legend of Evil 107 

The English Flag in 

"Cleared" 117 

An Imperial Rescript 125 

Tomlinson 129 

BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

Danny Deever 143 

Tommy 146 

"Fuzzy-Wuzzy" 150 

Soldier, Soldier 153 

Screw-Guns 156 

Cells 160 

Gunga Den 163 

Oonts! 767 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGfc 

'Loot 171 

^"Snarleyow ,,0 S 175 

The Widow at Windsor 179 

Belts 182 

The Young British Soldier 186 

^ Mandalay 190 

Troopin' 194 

The Widow's Party 197 

Ford o' Kabul River 200 

Gentlemen-Rankers 203 

Route Marches' 206 

Shellin' a Day 210 

Uenvoi « , 212 



PRELUDE 



1/ 



/ have eaten your bread and salt, 
I have drunk your water and wine; 

The deaths ye died I have watched beside, 
And the lives that ye led were mine. 

Was there aught that I did not share 

In vigil or toil or ease, — 
One joy or woe that I did not know, 

Dear hearts across the seas ? 

I have written the tale of our life 
For a sheltered people's mirth, 

In jesting guise — but ye are wise, 
And ye know what the jest is worth. 



DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES 



GENERAL SUMMARY 

We are very slightly changed 
From the semi-apes who ranged 

India's prehistoric clay; 
Whoso drew the longest bow 
Ran his brother down, you know, 

As we run men down to-day. 

"Dowb," the first of all his race, 
Met the Mammoth face to face 

On the lake or in the cave, 
Stole the steadiest canoe, 
Ate the quarry others slew, 

Died — and took the finest grave. 

When they scratched the reindeer-bone, 
Some one made the sketch his own, 

Filched it from the artist — then, 
Even in those early days, 
Won a simple Viceroy's praise 

Through the toil of other men. 
3 



4 



GENERAL SUMMARY 

Ere they hewed the Sphinx's visage 
Favouritism governed kissage, 
Even as it does in this age. 

Who shall doubt the secret hid 
Under Cheops' pyramid 
Was that the contractor did 

Cheops out of several millions? 
Or that Joseph's sudden rise 
To Comptroller of Supplies 
Was a fraud of monstrous size 

On King Pharaoh's swart Civilian? 

Thus, the artless songs I sing 
Do not deal with anything 

New or never said before. 
As it was in the beginning 
Is to-day official sinning, 

And shall be for evermore. 



ARMY HEAD-QUARTERS 

Old is the song that I sing — 

Old as my unpaid bills — 
Old as the chicken that kitmutgars bring 

Men at ddk-bungalows — old as the Hills. 

Ahasuerus Jenkins of the "Operatic Own," 
Was dowered with a tenor voice of super-Santley- 

tone. 
His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle queer; 
He had no seat worth mentioning, but oh! he had 

an ear. 

He clubbed his wretched company a dozen times a 

day, 
He used to leave his charger in a parabolic way, 
His method of saluting was the joy of all beholders, 
But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his shoul- 
ders. 

He took two months at Simla when the year was at 

the spring. 
And underneath the deodars eternally did sing. 

s 



6 ARMY HEAD-QUARTERS 

He warbled like a bul-btd f but particularly at 
Cornelia Agrippina, who was musical and fat. 

She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, con- 
trolled a Dept., 

Where Cornelia Agrippina's human singing-birds 
were kept 

From April to October on a plump retaining fee, 

Supplied, of course, per mensem, by the Indian 
Treasury. 

Cornelia used to sing to him, and Jenkins used to 

play; 
He praised unblushingly her notes, for he was false 

as they; 
So when the winds of April turned the budding roses 

brown, 
Cornelia told her husband: — Tom, you mustn't 

send him down. 

They haled him from his regiment, which didn't 

much regret him ; 
They found for him an office-stool, and on that stool 

they set him. 



ARMY HEAD-QUARTERS 7 

To play with maps and catalogues three idle hours a 
day, 

And draw his plump retaining fee— which means 
his double pay. 



Now, ever after dinner, when the coffee-cups are 

brought, 
Ahasuerus waileth o'er the grand pianoforte; 
And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath waxen 

great, 
And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a power in the Statel 



STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK 

This ditty is a string of lies. 

But — how the deuce did Gubbins rise? 



Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
Stands at the top of the tree; 
And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led 
To the hoisting of Potiphar G. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
Is seven years junior to Me; 
Each bridge that he makes either buckles or breaks, 
And his work is as rough as he. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
Is coarse as a chimpanzee; 
And I can't understand why you gave him your hand, 
Lovely Mehitabel Lee. 
8 



STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK 9 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
Is dear to the Powers that Be; 
For They bow and They smile in an affable style, 
Which is seldom accorded to Me. 

Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., 
Is certain as certain can be 
Of a highly paid post which is claimed by a host 
Of seniors — including Me. 

Careless and lazy is he, 
Greatly inferior to Me. 
What is the spell that you manage so well, 
Commonplace Potiphar G.? 

Lovely Mehitabel Lee, 
Let me inquire of thee, 
Should I have riz to where Potiphar is 
Hadst thou been mated to Me? 



DELILAH 

We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead 

and done 
Of Delilah Aberyswith and depraved Ulysses Gunne. 

Delilah Aberyswith was a lady — not too young — 
With a perfect taste in dresses and a badly bitted 

tongue, 
With a thirst for information, and a greater thirst 

for praise, 
And a little house in Simla in the Prehistoric Days. 

By reason of her marriage to a gentleman in power, 
Delilah was acquainted with the gossip of the hour; 
And many little secrets, of a half -official kind, 
Were whispered to Delilah, and she bore them all in 
mind. 

She patronized extensively a man, Ulysses Gunne, 
Whose mode of earning money was a low and shame- 
ful one. 

10 



DELILAH ti 

He wrote for divers papers, which, as everybody 

knows, 
Is worse than serving in a shop or scaring off the 

crows. 

He praised her queenly beauty first; and, later on, he 

hinted 
At the vastness of her intellect with compliment 

unstinted; 
He went with her a-riding, and his love for her was 

such 
That he lent her all his horses and — she galled them 

very much. 

One day They brewed a secret of a fine financial 

sort; 
It related to Appointments, to a Man and a Report. 
'Twas almost worth the keeping [only seven people 

knew it], 
So Gunne rose up to seek the truth and patiently 

ensue it. 

It was a Viceroy's Secret, but— perhaps the wine wa i 

red — 
Perhaps an Aged Councillor had lost his aged head- 



12 DELILAH 

Perhaps Delilah's eyes were bright — Delilah's whis- 
pers sweet — 

The Aged Member told her what 'twere treason to 
repeat. 

Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love and 

flowers; 
Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for several 

hours; 
Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped him 

dance — 
Ulysses let the waltzes go, and waited for his chance. 

The summer sun was setting, and the summer air 

was still, 
The couple went a-walking in the shade of Summer 

Hill, 
The wasteful sunset faded out in turkis-green and 

gold, 
Ulysses pleaded softly, and > . . that bad Delilah 

told! 

Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all-impor- 
tant News; 

Next week, the Aged Councillor was shaking in hi* 
shoes; 



DELILAH 13 

Next month, I met Delilah, and she did not show the 

least 
Hesitation in asserting that Ulysses was a "beast." 

....... 

We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead 

and done — 
Of Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses 

Gunne! 



A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE 

This is the reason why Rustum Beg, 

Rajah of Kolazai, 
Drinketh the " simpkin" and brandy peg, 

Maketh the money to fly, 
Vexeth a Government, tender and kind, 
Also — but this is a detail — blind. 

Rustum Beg of Kolazai— slightly backward Native 

State — 
Lusted for a C. S. I. — so began to sanitate. 
Built a Gaol and Hospital — nearly built a City 

drain — 
Till his faithful subjects all thought their ruler was 

insane. 

Strange departures made he then — yea, Depart- 
ments stranger still, 
Half a dozen Englishmen helped the Rajah with a will, 
Talked of noble aims and high, hinted of a future fine 
For the State of Kolazai, on a strictly Western line. 



A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE 15 

Rajah Rustum held his peace; lowered octroi dues 

one half; 
Organized a State Police; purified the Civil Staff; 
Settled cess and tax afresh in a very liberal way; 
Cut temptations of the flesh — also cut the Bukhshi's 

pay; 

Roused his Secretariat to a fine Mahratta fury, 
By a Hookum hinting at supervision of dasturi; 
Turned the State of Kolazai very nearly upside-down; 
When the end of May was nigh waited his achieve- 
ment crown. 

Then the Birthday honours came. Sad to state and 

sad to see, 
Stood against the Rajah's name nothing more than 

C. I. E. ! 

Things were lively for a week in the State of Kolazai, 
Even now the people speak of that time regretfully; 

How he disendowed the Gaol — stopped at once the 

City drain; 
Turned to beauty fair and frail — got his senses back 

again; 



16 A LEGEND OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE 

Doubled taxes, cesses all; cleared away each new- 
built thana; 
Turned the two-lakh Hospital into a superb Zenana; 

Heaped upon the Bukhshi Sahib wealth and honours 

manifold; 
Clad himself in Eastern garb — squeezed his people as 

of old. 
Happy, happy Kolazai! Never more will Rustum 

Beg 
Play to catch the Viceroy's eye. He prefers the 

"simpkin"peg. 



THE STORY OF URIAH 

"Now there were two men in one city; the one rich, and 
the other poor." 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta 

Because they told him to. 
He left his wife at Simla 

On three-fourths his monthly screw. 
Jack Barrett died at Quetta 

Ere the next month's pay he drew. 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta, 

He didn't understand 
The reason of his transfer 

From the pleasant mountain-land: 
The season was September, 

And it killed him out of hand. 

Jack Barrett went to Quetta 

And there gave up the ghost; 
Attempting two men's duty 

In that very healthy post; 
17 



18 THE STORY OF URIAH 

And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him 
Five lively months at most. 

Jack Barrett's bones at Quetta 

Enjoy profound repose; 
But I shouldn't be astonished 

If now his spirit knows 
The reason of his transfer 

From the Himalayan snows. 

And, when the Last Great Bugle Call 

Adown the Hurnai throbs, 
When the last grim joke is entered 

In the big black Book of Jobs, 
And Quetta graveyards give again 

Their victims to the air, 
I shouldn't like to be the man, 

Who sent Jack Barrett there. 



THE POST THAT FITTED 

Though tangled and twisted the course of true love. 

This ditty explains 
No tangle's so tangled it cannot improve 

If the Lover has brains. 

Ere the steamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was 

engaged to marry 
An attractive girl at Tunbridge, whom he called 

"my little Carrie." 
Sleary's pay was very modest; Sleary was the other 

way. 
Who can cook a two-plate dinner on eight paltry dibs 

a day? 

Long he pondered o'er the question in his scantly 

furnished quarters — 
Then proposed to Minnie B off kin, eldest of Judge 

Boffkin's daughters. 
Certainly an impecunious Subaltern was not a catch, 
But the Boffkins knew that Minnie mightn't make 

another match. 



2o THE POST THAT FITTED 

So they recognized the business and, to feed and 

clothe the bride, 
Got him made a Something-Something somewhen 

on the Bombay side. 
Anyhow, the billet carried pay enough for him to 

marry — 
As the artless Sleary put it: — " Just the thing for me 

and Carrie." 

Did he, therefore, jilt Miss Boffkin— impulse of a 

baser mind? 
No! He started epileptic fits of an appalling kind. 
[Of his modus operandi only this much I could 

gather: — 
"Pears shaving sticks will give you little taste and 

lots of lather."] 

Frequently in public places his affliction used to 

smite 
Sleary with distressing vigour — always in the Boff- 

kins' sight. 
Ere a week was over Minnie weepingly returned his 

ring, 
Told him his "unhappy weakness" stopped all 

thought of marrying. 



THE POST THAT FITTED 21 

Sleary bore the information with a chastened holy 

joy,- 

[Epileptic fits don't matter in Political employ,] 
Wired three short words to Carrie — took his ticket, 

packed his kit — 
Bade farewell to Minnie Boffkin in one last, long, 

lingering fit. 

Four weeks later, Carrie Sleary read — and laughed 

until she wept — 
Mrs. Boffkin's warning letter on the " wretched 

epilept." 
Year by year, in pious patience, vengeful Mrs. 

Boffkin sits 
Waiting for the Sleary babies to develop Sleary's fits. 



A CODE OF MORALS 

Lest you should think this story true 
I merely mention I 
Evolved it lately. } Tis a most 
Unmitigated misstatement. 

Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his 

house in order. 
And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the 

Afghan border, 
To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he left he 

taught 
His wife the working of the Code that sets the miles 

at naught. 

And Love had made him very sage, as Nature made 

her fair; 
So Cupid and Apollo linked, per heliograph, the pair. 
At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her 

counsel wise — 
At e'en, the dying sunset bore her husband's homilies. 

22 



A CODE OF MORALS 23 

He warned her 'gainst seductive youths in scarlet 

clad and gold, 
As much as 'gainst the blandishments paternal of the 

old; 
But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby my ditty 

hangs) 
That snowy-haired Lothario Lieutenant-General 

Bangs. 

'Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, that tit- 
tupped on the way, 

When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play . 

They thought of Border risings, and of stations 
sacked and burnt — 

So stopped to take the message down — and this is 
what they learnt: — 

"Dash dot dot, dot, dot dash, dot dash dot" twice. 

The General swore. 
"Was ever General Officer addressed as 'dear' 

before? 
" ' My Love,' i' faith ! ' My Duck,' Gadzooks ! ' My 

darling popsy-wop ! ' 
"Spirit of great Lord Woheley, who is on that 

mountain top? " 



24 A CODE OF MORALS 

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the gilded Staff 
were still, 

As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that mes- 
sage from the hill; 

For clear as summer-lightning flare, the husband's 
warning ran: — 

" Don't dance or ride with General Bangs — a most 
immoral man." 

[At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her 

counsel wise — 
But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large 

hath eyes.] 
With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed his 

wife v 

Some interesting details of the General's private life. 

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the shining 

Staff were still, 
And red and ever redder grew the General's shaven 

gill. 

And this is what he said at last (his feelings matter 

not) : — 
" I think we've tapped a private line. Hi! Threeg 
bout there! Trot'" 



A CODE OF MORALS 2S 

All honour unto Bangs, for ne'er did Jones thereafter 
know 

By word or act official who read off that helio; 

But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni to 
Mooltan 

They know the worthy General as "that most im- 
moral man." 



PUBLIC WASTE 

Walpole talks of u a man and his price" 

List to a ditty queer — 
The sale of a Deputy- Acting-Vice- 

Resident-Engineer 
Bought like a bullock, hoof and hide, 
By the Little Tin Gods on the Mountain Side. 

By the laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in let- 
ters of brass 

That only a Colonel from Chatham can manage the 
Railways of State, 

Because of the gold on his breeks, and the subjects 
wherein he must pass; 

Because in all matters that deal not with Railways 
his knowledge is great. 

Now Exeter Battleby Tring had laboured from boy- 
hood to eld 

On the Lines of the East and the West, likewise of 
the North and South; 

26 



PUBLIC WASTE 27 

Many lines had he built and surveyed — important 

the posts which he held; 
And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb when 

he opened his mouth. 

Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies jettier 

still- 
Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of study 

and knowledge — 
Never clanked sword by his side — Vauban he knew 

not, nor drill — 
Nor was his name on the list of men who had passed 

through the "College." 

Wherefore the Little Tin Gods harried their little 

tin souls, 
Seeing he came not from Chatham, jingled no spurs 

at his heels, 
Knowing that, nevertheless, was he first on the 

Government rolls 
For the billet of "Railway Instructor to Little Tin 

Gods on Wheels." 

Letters not seldom they wrote him, "having the 
honour to state," 



28 PUBLIC WASTE 

It would be better for all men if he were laid on the 
shelf: 

Much would accrue to his bank-book and he con- 
sented to wait 

Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for him- 
self. 

" Special, well paid, and exempt from the Law of the 
Fifty and Five, 

Even to Ninety and Nine" — these were the terms of 
the pact: 

Thus did the Little Tin Gods (long may their High- 
nesses thrive!) 

Silence his mouth with rupees, keeping their Circle 
intact; 

Appointing a Colonel from Chatham who managed 
the Bhamo State Line, 

(The which was one mile and one furlong — a guar- 
anteed twenty-inch gauge) 

So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to 
resign, 

And died, on four thousand a month, in the nine- 
tieth year of his age ! 



WHAT HAPPENED 

Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow Bazar, 
Owner of a native press, "Barrishter-at-Lar," 
Waited on the Government with a claim to wear 
Sabres by the bucketful, rifles by the pair. 

Then the Indian Government winked a wicked wink, 
Said to Chunder Mookerjee: "Stick to pen and ink. 
They are safer implements, but, if you insist, 
We will let you carry arms wheresoe'er you list." 

Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gunsmith and 
Bought the tubes of Lancaster, Ballard, Dean, and 

Bland, 
Bought a shiny bowie-knife, bought a town-made 

sword, 
Jingled like a carriage-horse when he went abroad. 

But the Indian Government, always keen to please, 
Also gave permission to horrid men like these — 

29 



So WHAT HAPPENED 

Yar Mahommed Yusufzai, down to kill or steal; 
Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer, Tantia the Bhil; 

Killar Khan the Marri chief, Jowar Singh the Sikh, 
Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat, Abdul Huq Rafiq — 
He was a Wahabi; last, little Boh Hla-oo 
Took advantage of the Act — took a Snider too. 

They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew them 

not, 
They procured their swords and guns chiefly on the 

spot, 
And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred fights, 
Made them slow to disregard one another's rights. 

With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts 

All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts 

Said: "The good old days are back — let us go to 

war!" 
Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road into Bow 

Bazar. 

Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound flail, 
Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk jezail, 
Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with glee 
As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khyberee. 



WHAT HAPPENED 31 

Jowar Singh the Sikh procured sabre, quoit, and mace, 
Abdul Huq, Wahabi, took his dagger from its place, 
While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned and 

jabbered 
Little Boh Hla-00 and cleared the dah-blade from 

the scabbard. 

What became of Mookerjee? Soothly, who can say? 
Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way, 
Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is mute; 
But the belts of all of them simply bulge with loot. 

What became of Ballard's guns? Afghans black and 

grubby 
Sell them for their silver weight to the men of Pubbi; 
And the shiny bowie-knife and the town-made sword 

are 
Hanging in a Marri camp just across the Border. 

What became of Mookerjee? Ask Mahommed Yar 

Prodding Siva's sacred bull down the Bow Bazar. 

Speak to placid Nubbee Baksh — question land and 
sea — 

Ask the Indian Congress men — only don't ask me! 



THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE 

Shun — shun the Bowl! That fatal , facile drink 
Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills int. 

Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink 

Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in'L 

There may be silver in the " blue-black " — all 

I know of is the iron and the gall. 

Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen, 
Is a dismal failure — is a Might-have-been. 
In a luckless moment he discovered men 
Rise to high position through a ready pen. 

Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore — "I, 
With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high." 
Only he did not possess when he made the trial, 
Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L — L 

[Men who spar with Government need, to back their 

blows, 
Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.] 

32 



THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE $ 3 

Never young Civilian's prospects were so bright, 
Till an Indian paper found that he could write: 
Never young Civilian's prospects were so dark, 
When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his mark. 

Certainly he scored it, bold, and black, and firm — 
In that Indian paper made his seniors squirm — 
Quoted office scandals, wrote the tactless truth — 
Was there ever known a more misguided youth? 

When the Indian paper praised his plucky game, 

Boanerges Blitzen felt that this was fame: 

When the men he wrote of shook their heads and 

swore, 
Boanerges Blitzen only wrote the more; 

Posed as Young Ithuriel, resolute and grim, 
Till he found promotion didn't come to him; 
Till he found that reprimands weekly were his lot, 
And his many Districts curiously hot. 

Till he found his furlough strangely hard to win, 

Boanerges Blitzen didn't care a pin: 

Then it seemed to dawn on him something wasn't 

right — 
Boanerges Blitzen put it down to "spite." 



34 THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE 

Languished in a District desolate and dry; 
Watched the Local Government yearly pass him by; 
Wondered where the hitch was; called it most unfair. 



') 



That was seven years ago — and he still is there. 



PINK DOMINOES 

"They are fools who kiss and tell" — 
Wisely has the poet sung. 
Man may hold all sort of posts 
If he'll only hold his tongue. 

Jenny and Me were engaged, you see 

On the eve of the Fancy Ball; 
So a kiss or two was nothing to you 

Or any one else at all. 

Jenny would go in a domino — 

Pretty and pink but warm ; 
While I attended, clad in a splendid 

Austrian uniform. 

Now we had arranged, through notes exchanged 

Early that afternoon, 
At Number Four to waltz no more, 

But to sit in the dusk and spoon. 

35 



36 PINK DOMINOES 

[I wish you to see that Jenny and Me 
Had barely exchanged our troth; 

So a kiss or two was strictly due 
By, from, and between us both.] 

When Three was over, an eager lover, 

I fled to the gloom outside; 
And a Domino came out also 

Whom I took for my future bride. 

That is to say, in a casual way, 

I slipped my arm around her; 
With a kiss or two (which is nothing to you), 

And ready to kiss I found her. 

She turned her head and the name she said 

Was certainly not my own; 
But ere I could speak, with a smothered shriek 

She fled and left me alone. 

Then Jenny came, and I saw with shame, 

She'd doffed her domino; 
And I had embraced a stranger's waist — 

But I did not tell her so. 



PINK DOMINOES 37 

Next morn I knew that there were two 

Dominoes pink, and one 
Had cloaked the spouse of Sir Julian Vouse, 

Our big Political gun. 

Sir J. was old, and her hair was gold, 

And her eyes were a blue cerulean; 
And the name she said when she turned her head 

Was not in the least like "Julian." 

Now wasn't it nice, when want of pice 

Forbade us twain to marry, 
That old Sir J. in the kindest way, 

Made me his Secreforry ? 



MUNICIPAL 

" Why is my District death-rate low ? " 

Said Binks of Hezabad. 

"Wells, drains, and sewage-outfalls are 

11 My own peculiar fad. 

"I learnt a lesson once. It ran 

"Thus" quoth that most veracious man: — 

It was an August evening, and in snowy garments 

clad, 
I paid a round of visits in the lines of Hezabad; 
When, presently, my Waler saw, and did not like 

at all 
A Commissariat elephant careering down the Mall. 

I couldn't see the driver, and across my mind it 

rushed 
That that Commissariat elephant had suddenly gone 

mustk. 

3* 



MUNICIPAL 39 

I didn't care to meet him, and I couldn't well get 

down, 
So I let the Waler have it, and we headed for the town. 

The buggy was a new one and, praise Dykes, it stood 

the strain 
Till the Waler jumped a bullock just above the City 

Drain; 
And the next that I remember was a hurricane of 

squeals, 
And the creature making toothpicks of my five-foot 

patent wheels. 

He seemed to want the owner, so I fled, distraught 

with fear, 
To the Main Drain sewage-outfall where he snorted 

in my ear — 
Reached the four-foot drain-head safely, and in 

darkness and despair, 
Felt the brute's proboscis fingering my terror-stiffened 

hair. 

Heard it trumpet on my shoulder— tried to crawl a 

little higher — 
Found the Main Drain sewage-outfall blocked, some 

e ; .ght feet up, with mire; 



4 o MUNICIPAL 

And, for twenty reeking minutes, Sir, my very mar- 
row froze, 

While the trunk was feeling blindly for a purchase on 
my toes! 

It missed me by a fraction, but my hair was turning 

g re y 
Before they called the drivers up and dragged the 

brute away. 
Then I sought the City Elders, and my words were 

very plain. 
They flushed that four-foot drain-head and — it never 

choked again. 

You may hold with surface-drainage, and the sun- 

for-garbage cure, 
Till you've been a periwinkle shrinking coyly up a 

sewer. 
I believe in well-flushed culverts. . . . 

This is why the death-rate's small; 
And, if you don't believe me, get shikarred yourself. 

That's all. 



THE LAST DEPARTMENT 

Twelve hundred million men are spread- 
About this Earth, and I and You 

Wonder, when You and I are dead, 
What will those luckless millions do? 

"None whole or clean," we cry, "or free from stain 
Of favour." Wait awhile, till we attain 

The Last Department where nor fraud nor fools, 
Nor grade nor greed, shall trouble us again. 

Fear, Favour, or Affection — what are these 
To the grim Head who claims our services? 

I never knew a wife or interest yet 
Delay that pukka step, miscalled "decease"; 

When leave, long over-due, none can deny; 
When idleness of all Eternity 

Becomes our furlough, and the marigold 
Our thriftless, bulhon-minting Treasury 

41 



42 



THE LAST DEPARTMENT 



Transferred to the Eternal Settlement, 
Each in his strait, wood-scantled office pent, 
No longer Brown reverses Smith's appeals, 
Or Jones records his Minute of Dissent. 

And One, long since a pillar of the Court, 

As mud between the beams thereof is wrought; 

And One who wrote on phosphates for the crops* 
Is subject-matter of his own Report. 

SThese be the glorious ends whereto we pass — 
Let Him who Is, go call on Him who Was; 

And He shall see the tnallie steals the slak 
For currie-grinder, and for goats the grass.] 

A breath of wind, a Border bullet's flight, 
A draught of water, or a horse's fright — 

The droning of the fat Sheristadar 
Ceases, the punkah stops, and falls the night 



For You and Me. Do those who live decline 
The step that offers, or their work resign? 

Trust me, To-day's Most Indispensables, 
Five hundred men can take your place or mine. 



OTHER VERSES 



43 



MY RIVAL 

I go to concert, party, ball — 

What profit is in these? 
I sit alone against the wall 

And strive to look at ease. 
The incense that is mine by right 

They burn before Her shrine; 
And that's because I'm seventeen 

And She is forty-nine. 

I cannot check my girlish blush, 

My colour comes and goes; 
I redden to my finger-tips, 

And sometimes to my nose. 
But She is white where white should be 

And red where red should shine. 
The blush that flies at seventeen 

Is fixed at forty-nine. 

I wish I had Her constant cheek: 
I wish that I could sing 
45 



46 MY RIVAL 

All sorts of funny little songs, 

Not quite the proper thing. 
I'm very gauche and very shy, 

Her jokes aren't in my line; 
And, worst of all, I'm seventeen, 

While She is forty-nine. 

The young men come, the young men go, 

Each pink and white and neat, 
She's older than their mothers, but 

They grovel at Her feet. 
They walk beside Her 'rickshaw-wheels — 

They never walk by mine; 
And that's because I'm seventeen 

And She is forty-nine. 

She rides with half a dozen men 

(She calls them "boys" and "mashers ")> 
I trot along the Mall alone; 

My prettiest frocks and sashes 
Don't help to fill my programme-card, 

And vainly I repine 
From ten to two a. m. Ah me! 

Would I were forty-nine. 



MY RIVAL 47 

She calls me "darling," "pet," and "dear," 

And "sweet retiring maid." 
I'm always at the back, I know, 

She puts me in the shade. 
She introduces me to men, 

"Cast" lovers, I opine, 
For sixty takes to seventeen, 

Nineteen to forty-nine. 

But even She must older grow 

And end Her dancing days, 
She can't go on for ever so 

At concerts, balls, and plays. 
One ray of priceless hope I see 

Before my footsteps shine: 
Just think, that She'll be eighty-one 

When I am forty-nine! 



TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS 

Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my 

soul going out from afar? 
Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and 

cautious shikar ? 

Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, 

unthinking, and blind? 
Shall I meet you next season at Simla, oh sweetest 

and best of your kind? 

Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in 

short frocks in the West, 
Are you growing the charms that shall capture and 

torture the heart in my breast? 

Wil 1 you stay in the Plains till September — my 

passion as warm as the day? 
Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or 

where the thermantidotes play? 

48 



TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS 4^ 

When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the 

mean lesser lights I pursue, 
And the charm of your presence shall lure me from 

love of the gay " thirteen- two " ; 

When the peg and the pigskin shall please not; 

when I buy me Calcutta-built clothes; 
When I quit the Delight of Wild Asses; forswearing 

the swearing of oaths; 

As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn 'mid 

the gibes of my friends; 
When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the 

life of the bachelor ends. 

Ah Goddess! child, spinster, or widow — as of old 

on Mars Hill when they raised 
To the God that they knew not an altar — so I, a 

young Pagan, have praised 

The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if hatf 

that men tell me be true, 
You will come in the future, and therefore the verse $ 

are written to you! 



THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VTN 

[Allowing for the difference 'twixt prose and rhymed 
exaggeration, this ought to reproduce the sense of what 

Sir A told the nation some time ago, when the 

Government struck from our incomes two per cent] 

Now the New Year, reviving last Year's Debt, 
The thoughtful Fisher caste th wide his Net; 
So I with begging Dish and ready Tongue 
Assail all Men for all that I can get. 

Imports indeed are gone with all their Dues — 
Lo! Salt a Lever that I dare not use, 
Nor may I ask the Tillers in Bengal — 
Surely my Kith and Kin will not refuse 

Pay — and I promise by the Dust of Spring, 
Retrenchment. If my promises can bring 

Comfort, Ye have them now a thousand-fold — 
By Allah I X will promise A ny thing I 

so 



THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN 51 

Indeed, indeed, Retrenchment oft before 
I swore — but did I mean it when I swore? 

And then, and then, We wandered to the Hills, 
And so the Little Less became Much More. 

Whether a Boileaugunge or Babylon, 

I know not how the wretched Thing is done, 

The Items of Receipt grow surely small; 
The Items of Expense mount one by one. 

I cannot help it. What have I to do 

With One and Five, or Four, or Three, or Two? 

Let Scribes spit Blood and Sulphur as they please, 
Or Statesmen call me foolish— Heed not you. 

Behold, I promise— Anything You will. 
Behold, I greet you with an empty Till — 

Ah! Fellow-Sinners, of your Charity 
Seek not the Reason of the Dearth, but nil. 

For if I sinned and fell, where lies the Gain 

Of Knowledge? Would it ease you of your Pain 

To know the tangled Threads of Revenue 
I ravel deeper in a hopeless Skein? 



52 THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN 

"Who hath not Prudence" — what was it I said. 
Of Her who paints her Eyes and tires Her Head, 
And jibes and mocks the People in the Street, 
And fawns upon them for Her thriftless Bread? 

* 

Accursed is She of Eve's daughters — She 
Hath cast off Prudence, and Her End shall be 

Destruction. . . . Brethren, of your Bounty grant 
Some portion of your daily Bread to Me. 



PAGETT, M. P. 

The toad beneath the harrow knows 
Exactly where each tooth-point goes; 
The Butterfly upon the road 
Preaches contentment to that toad. 

Pagett, M. P., was a liar, and a fluent liar there- 
with, — 

He spoke of the heat of India as the "Asian Solar 
Myth"; 

Came on a four months' visit, to "study the East," 
in November. 

And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay 
till September. 

March came in with the kbit. Pagett was cool and 

gay, 
Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my 

"princely pay." 
March went out with the roses. "Where is your 

heat? " said he. 
"Coming," said I to Pagett. "Skittles!" said 

Pagett, M. P. 

53 



54 PAGETT, M. P. 

April opened with punkahs, coolies, and prickly- 
heat, — 

Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a 
treat. 

He grew speckled and lumpy — hammered, I grieve 

to say, 

Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way. 

May set in with a dust-storm, — Pagett went down 
with the sun. 

All the delights of the season tickled him one by 
one. 

Imprimis — ten days' "liver" — due to his drinking 
beer; 

Later, a dose of fever — slight, but he called it se- 
vere. 

Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota 

Bursal — 
Lowered his portly person — made him yearn to 

depart. 
He didn't call me a "Brahmin," or "bloated," or 

"overpaid," 
But seemed to think it a wonder that any one ever 

stayed. 



PAGETT, M. P. 55 

July was a trifle unhealthy, — Pagett was ill with fear, 
Called it the " Cholera Morbus," hinted that life was 

dear. 
He babbled of "eastern exile," and mentioned hi? 

home with tears; 
But I hadn't seen my children for close upon seven 

years. 

We reached a hundred and twenty once in the Court 

at noon, 
[I've mentioned Pagett was portly] Pagett went off 

in a swoon. 

That was an end to the business; Pagett, the per- 
jured, fled 

With a practical, working knowledge of "Solar 
Myths" in his head. 

And I laughed as I drove from the station, but the 
mirth died out on my lips 

As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write of 
their "Eastern trips," 

And the sneers of the travelled idiots who duly mis- 
govern the land, 

And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one into 
my hand. 



LA NUIT BLANCHE 

A much-discerning Public hold 
The singer generally sings 
Of personal and private things , 

And prints and sells his past for gold. 

Whatever I may here disclaim, 
The very clever folk I sing to 
Will most indubitably cling to 

Their pet delusion, just the same. 

I had seen, as dawn was breaking 

And I staggered to my rest, 
Tara Devi softly shaking 

From the Cart Road to the crest. 
I had seen the spurs of Jakko 

Heave and quiver, swell and sink; 
Was it Earthquake or tobacco, 

Day of Doom or Night of Drink? 
56 



LA NUIT BLANCHE 57 

In the full, fresh, fragrant morning 

I observed a camel crawl, 
Laws of gravitation scorning, 

On the ceiling and the wall; 
Then I watched a fender walking, 

And I heard gray leeches sing, 
And a red-hot monkey talking 

Did not seem the proper thing. 



Then a Creature, skinned and crimson, 

Ran about the floor and cried, 
And they said I had the "jims" on, 

And they dosed me with bromide, 
And they locked me in my bed-room — 

Me and one wee Blood Red Mouse- 
Though I said: — "To give my head room 

"You had best unroof the house." 



But my words were all unheeded, 
Though I told the grave M. D. 

That the treatment really needed 
Was a dip in open sea 



58 LA NUIT BLANCHE 

That was lapping just below me, 
Smooth as silver, white as snow, 

And it took three men to throw me 
When I found I could not go. 



Half the night I watched the Heavens 

Fizz like '81 champagne — 
Fly to sixes and to sevens, 

Wheel and thunder back again; 
And when all was peace and order 

Save one planet nailed askew, 
Much I wept because my warden 

Would not let me set it true. 



After frenzied hours of waiting, 

When the Earth and Skies were dumb, 
Pealed an awful voice dictating 

An interminable sum, 
Changing to a tangled story — 

"What she said you said I said—" 
Till the Moon arose in glory, 

And I found her . . . in my head; 



LA NUIT BLANCHE 59 

Then a Face came, blind and weeping, 

And It couldn't wipe Its eyes, 
And It muttered I was keeping 

Back the moonlight from the skies; 
So I patted It for pity, 

But It whistled shrill with^wrath, 
And a huge, black Devil City 

Poured its peoples on my path. 



So I fled with steps uncertain 

On a thousand-year long race, 
But the bellying of the curtain 

Kept me always in one place; 
While the tumult rose and maddened 

To the roar of Earth on fire, 
Ere it ebbed and sank and saddened 

To a whisper tense as wire. 



In intolerable stillness 
Rose one little, little star, 

And it chuckled at my illness, 
And it mocked me from afar; 



60 LA NUIT BLANCHE 

And its brethren came and eyed me, 
Called the Universe to aid, 

Till I lay, with naught to hide me, 
'Neath the Scorn of all Things Made. 

Dun and saffron, robed and splendid 

Broke the solemn, pitying Day, 
And I knew my pains were ended, 

And I turned and tried to pray; 
But my speech was shattered wholly, 

And I wept as children weep, 
Till the dawn-wind, softly, slowly, 

Brought to burning eyelids sleep. 



THE LOVERS' LITANY 

Eyes of gray — the sodden quay, 
Driving rain and falling tears, 
As the steamer heads to sea 
In a parting storm of cheers. 

Sing, for Faith and Hope are high. 

None so true as you and I — 

Sing the Lovers' Litany: — 

"Love like ours can never die I" 

Eyes of black — the throbbing keel 

Milky foam to left and right; 

Little whispers near the wheel 

In the brilliant tropic night. 

Cross that rules the Southern Sky, 
Stars that sweep, and wheel, and fly, 
Hear the Lovers' Litany: — 
"Love like ours can never die/" 

Eyes of brown — the dusty plain 
Split and parched with heat of June. 
61 



62 THE LOVERS' LITANY 

Flying hoof and tightened rein, 
Hearts that beat the old, old tune. 
Side by side the horses fly, 
Frame we now the old reply 
Of the Lovers' Litany: — 
11 Love like ours can never die!" 

Eyes of blue — the Simla Hills 
Silvered with the moonlight hoar; 
Pleading of the waltz that thrills, 
Dies and echoes round Benmore. 
"Mabel," "Officers," "Good-bye/ 
Glamour, wine, and witchery — 
On my soul's sincerity, 
"Love like ours can never die!" 

Maidens, of your charity, 
Pity my most luckless state. 
Four times Cupid's debtor I — 
Bankrupt in quadruplicate. 
Yet, despite this evil case, 
And a maiden showed me grace, 
Four-and-forty times would I 
Sing the Lovers' Litany: — 
"Love like ours can never die!" 



A BALLAD OF BURIAL 

"Saint PraxeaVs ever was the Church for peace." 

If down here I chance to die, 

Solemnly I beg you take 
All that is left of "I" 

To the Hills for old sake's sake. 
Pack, and pack me thoroughly, 

In the ice that used to slake 
Drinks I drank when I was dry — 

This observe for old sake's sake. 

To the railway station hie, 

There a single ticket take 
For Umballa — goods-train — I 

Shall not mind delay or shake. 
I shall rest contentedly 

Spite of clamour coolies make; 
Thus in frozen dignity 

Send me up for old sake's sake. 
63 



64 A BALLAD OF BURIAL 

Next the sleepy van Babu wake, 

Book a Kalka van "for four." 
Few, I think, will care to make 

Journeys with me any more 
As they used to do of yore. 

I shall need a " special" break — 
Thing I never took before — 

Get me one for old sake's sake. 

After that — arrangements make, 

No hotel will take me in, 
And a bullock's back would break 

'Neath the teak and leaden skin. 
Tonga-ropes are frail and thin, 

Or, did I a back seat take, 
In a tonga I might spin, 

Do your best for old sake's sake. 

After that — your work is done. 

Recollect a Padre must 
Mourn the dear departed one — 

Throw the ashes and the dust. 
Don't go down at once. I trust 

You will find excuse to "snake 



A BALLAD OF BURIAL 65 

Three days' casual on the bust," — 
Get your fun for old sake's sake. 

I could never stand the Plains, 

Think of blazing June and May, 
Think of those September rains 

Yearly till the Judgment Day! 
I should never rest in peace, 

I should sweat and lie awake. 
Rail me then, on my decease, 

To the Hills for old sake's sake. 



THE OVERLAND MAIL 

[Foot-service to the Hills] 

In the name of the Empress of India, make way, 
Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam, 

The woods are awake at the end of the day — 
We exiles are waiting for letters from Home. 

Let the robber retreat — and the tiger turn tail — 

In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail! 

With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in, 
He turns to the foot-path that heads up the hill — 

The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin, 
And, tucked in his waistbelt, the Post Office bill; — 

"Despatched on this date, as received by the rail, 

"Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail." 

Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or swim. 
Has the rain wrecked the road? He must climb by 
the cliff. 

66 



THE OVERLAND MAIL 67 

Does the tempest cry halt? What are tempests to 
him? 
The service admits not a " but" or an "if." 

While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear with- 
out fail, 

In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail. 

From aloe to rose-oak, from rose-oak to fir, 
From level to upland, from upland to crest, 

From rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to spur, 
Fly the soft-sandalled feet, strains the scrawny 
brown chest. 

From rail to ravine— to the peak from the vale— 

Up, up through the night goes the Overland Mail. 

There's a speck on the hill-side, a dot on the road— 
A jingle of bells on the foot-path below— 

There's a scufile above in the monkey's abode— 
The world is awake and the clouds are aglow. 

For the great Sun himself must attend to the hail:— 

"In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!" 



DIVIDED DESTINIES 

It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine, 
And much I wondered how he lived, and where the 

beast might dine, 
And many, many other things, till, o'er my morning 

smoke, 
I slept the sleep of idleness and dreamt that Bandar 

spoke. 

He said: — "Oh man of many clothes! Sad crawler 

on the Hills! 
" Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's 

monthly bills! 
"I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call 

dress; 

"Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks 

at Mess. 
"I steal the bunnia's grain at morn, at noon and 

eventide 
" (For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the mountain 
side, 

68 



DIVIDED DESTINIES 69 

"I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life 
"Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Bandar's wife. 



"Oh man of futile fopperies — unnecessary wraps; 
"I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tall- wheeled 

traps. 
"I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes ' 

eke, of rings, 
''Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on pretty 

things. 

"I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight 

abroad; 
"But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord. 
"I never heard of fever — dumps nor debts depress my 

soul; 
1 ' And I pity and despise you ! ' ' Here he pouched my 

breakfast-roll. 

His hide was very mangy and his face was very red, 
And undisguisedly he scratched with energy his head. 
His manners were not always nice, but how my 

spirit cried 
To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountain side! 



7 o DIVIDED DESTINIES 

So I answered: — " Gentle Bandar, an inscrutable 

Decree, 
"Makes thee a gleesome fleasome Thou, and me a 

wretched Me. 
"Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home 

amid the pine; 
"Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his 

lot with thine. " 



THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 

Argument. — The Indian Government being minded to dis- 
cover the economic condition of their lands, sent a Committee 
to inquire into it; and saw that it was good. 

Scene.— The wooded heights of Simla. The Incar- 
nation of the Government of India in the raiment 
of the Angel of Plenty sings, to pianoforte accom- 
paniment: — ■ 

"How sweet is the shepherd's sweet life! 

From the dawn to the even he strays — 
He shall follow his sheep all the day 

And his tongue shall be filled with praise. 

{adagio dim.) Filled with praise ! " 

{largendo con sp.) Now this is the position, 
Go make an inquisition 
Into their real condition 
As swiftly as ye may. 
(p) Ay, paint our swarthly billions 
The richest of vermilions 
Ere two well-led cotillions 
Have danced themselves away. 
71 



72 THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 

Turkish Patrol, as able and intelligent Investigators 
. wind down the Himalayas: — 

What is the state of the Nation? What is its occupa- 
tion? 

Hi! get along, get along, get along, — lend us the 
information ! 

(dim) Census the bylu and the yaba — capture a first- 
class Babu, 
Set him to cut Gazetteers — Gazetteers . . 
(Jjf) What is the state of the Nation, &c, &c. 

Interlude, from Nowhere in Particular, to stringed 
and Oriental instruments. 

Our cattle reel beneath the yoke they bear — 
The earth is iron and the skies are brass — 

And faint with fervour of the flaming air 
The languid hours pass. 

Our wells are dry beneath the village tree— 
The young wheat withers ere it reach a span, 

And belts of blinding sand show cruelly 
Where once the river ran. 

Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King — 
Lift up your hands above the blighted grain, 



THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 73 

Look westward— if They please, the Gods shall bring 
Their mercy with the Rain. 

Look westward— bears the blue no brown cloud-bank? 

Nay, it is written — wherefore should we fly? 
On our own field and by our cattle's flank 

Lie down, lie down to die! 

Semi-Chorus. 

By the plumed heads of Kings 
Waving high, 

Where the tall corn springs 

O'er the dead. 

If they rust or rot we die, 

If they ripen we are fed. 

Very mighty is the power of our Kings! 

Triumphal return to Simla of the Investigators, attired 
after the manner of Dionysus, leading a pet tiger-cub 
in wreaths of rhubarb leaves, symbolical of India 
under medical treatment. They sing: — 

We have seen, we have written — behold it, the proof 

of our manifold toil! 
In their hosts they assembled and told it— the tale 

of the Sons of the Soil. 



74 THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 

We have said of the Sickness — " Where is it?" — and 
of Death — "It is far from our ken," — 

We have paid a particular visit to the affluent chil- 
dren of men. 

We have trodden the mart and the well-curb — we 
have stooped to the bield and the byre; 

And the King may the forces of Hell curb — for the 
People have all they desire! 

Castanets and step-dance : 

Oh, the dom and the mag and the thakur and the thag, 

And the nat and the brinjaree, 
And the bunnia and the ryot are as happy and as quiet 

And as plump as they can be! 
Yes, the jain and the jat in his stucco-fronted hut, 

And the bounding bazugar, 
By the favour of the King, are as fat as anything, 

They are — they are — they are! 

Recitative, Government of India, with white satin 
wings and electroplated harp: — 

How beautiful upon the mountains — in peace reclin- 
ing, 

Thus to be assured that our people are unanimously 
dining. 



THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 75 

And though there are places not so blessed as others 
in natural advantages, which, after all, was only 
to be expected, 

Proud and glad are we to congratulate you upon the 
work you have thus ably effected. 

Chorus of the Crystallized Facts. 

Before the beginning of years 

There came to the rule of the State 

Men with a pair of shears, 

Men with an Estimate — 

Strachey with Muir for leaven, 

Lytton with locks that fell, 

Ripon fooling with Heaven, 

And Temple riding like H — 11! 

And the bigots took in hand 

Cess and the falling of rain, 

And the measure of sifted sand 

The dealer puts in the grain — 

Imports by land and sea, 

To uttermost decimal worth, 

And registration — free — 

In the Houses of Death and of Birth: 

And fashioned with pens and paper, 



76 THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 

And fashioned in black and white, 
With Life for a flickering taper 
And Death for a blazing light — 
With the Armed and the Civil Power, 
That his strength might endure for a span 
From Adam's Bridge to Peshawur, 
The Much Administered Man. 

In the towns of the North and the East, 

They gathered as unto rule, 

They bade him starve his priest 

And send his children to school. 

Railways and roads they wrought, 

For the needs of the trade within; 

A time to squabble in court, 

A time to bear and to grin; 

And gave him peace in his ways, 

Jails — and Police to fight, 

Justice at length of days, 

And Right— and Might in the Right. 

His speech is of mortgaged bedding, 

On his kine he borrows yet, 

At his heart is his daughter's wedding, 

In his eye foreknowledge of debt. 



THE MASQUE OF PLENTY 77 

He eats and hath indigestion, 
He toils and he may not stop; 
His life is a long-drawn question 
Between a crop and a crop. 



THE MARE'S NEST 

Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse 
Was good beyond all earthly need; 

But, on the other hand, her spouse 
Was very, very bad indeed. 

He smoked cigars, called churches slow. 

And raced — but this she did not know. 

For Belial Machiavelli kept 

The little fact a secret, and, 
Though o'er his minor sins she wept, 

Jane Austen did not understand 
That Lilly — thirteen-two and bay — 
Absorbed one half her husband's pay. 

She was so good she made him worse 
(Some women are like this, I think) ; 

He taught her parrot how to curse, 
Her Assam monkey how to drink. 

He vexed her righteous soul until 

She went up, and he went down hill. 
78 



THE MARE'S NEST 79 

Tlieii came the crisis, strange to say, 
Which turned a good wife to a better. 

A telegraphic peon, one day, 
Brought her — now, had it been a letter 

For Belial Machiavelli, I 

Know Jane would just have let it lie. 

But 'twas a telegram instead, 
Marked "urgent," and her duty plain 

To open it. Jane Austen read: — ■ 
" Your Lilly 1 s got a cough again. 

"Can't understand why she is kept 

"At your expense" Jane Austen wept. 

It was a misdirected wire, 

Her husband was at Shaitanpore. 
She spread her anger, hot as fire, 

Through six thin foreign sheets or more, 
Sent off that letter, wrote another 
To her solicitor — and mother. 

Then Belial Machiavelli saw 

Her error and, I trust, his own, 
Wired to the minion of the Law, 

And travelled wifeward — not alone: 



THE MARE'S NEST 

For Lilly — thirteen- two and bay — 
Came in a horse-box all the way. 

There was a scene — a weep or two — 
With many kisses. Austen Jane 

Rode Lilly all the season through, 
And never opened wires again. 

She races now with Belial. This 

Is very sad, but so it is. 



THE BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING- 
HOUSE 

That night when through the mooring chains 

The wide-eyed corpse rolled free. 
To blunder down by Garden Reach 

And rot at Kedgeree, 
The tale the Hughli told the shoal 

The lean shoal whispered me. 

'Twas Fultah Fisher's boarding-house, 

Where sailor-men reside, 
And there were men of all the ports 

From Mississip to Clyde, 
And regally they spat and smoked, 

And fearsomely they lied. 

They lied about the purple Sea 

That gave them scanty bread, 
They lied about the Earth beneath, 

The Heavens overhead, 
For they had looked too often on 

Black rum when that was red. 
81 



82 BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 

And there was Hans the Blue-eyed Dane, 

Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
Who carried on his hairy chest 

The maid Ultruda's charm — 
The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm. 

And there was Jake Without-the-Ears, 

And Pamba the Malay, 
And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook, 

And Luz from Vigo Bay, 
And Honest Jack who sold them slops 

And harvested their pay. 

And there was Salem Hardieker, 

A lean Bostonian he — 
Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn, 

Yank, Dane, and Portugee, 
At Fultah's Fisher's boarding-place 

They rested from the sea. 

Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks, 

Collinga knew her fame, 
From Tarnau in Galicia 

To Jaun Bazar she came, 



BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 83 

To eat the bread of infamy 
And take the wage of shame. 

She held a dozen men to heel — 

Rich spoil of war was hers, 
In hose and gown and ring and chain, 

From twenty mariners, 
And, by Port Law, that week, men called 

Her Salem Hardieker's. 

But seamen learnt — what landsmen know — 

That neither gifts nor gain 
Can hold a winking Light o' Love 

Or Fancy's flight restrain, 
When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes 

On Hans the blue-eyed Dane. 

Since Life is strife, and strife means knife, 

From Howrah to the Bay, 
And he may die before the dawn 

Who liquored out the day, 
In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 

We woo while yet we may. 

But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 
Bull-throated, bare of arm, 



84 BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 

And laughter shook the chest beneath 

The maid Ultruda's charm — 
The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm. 

"You speak to Salem Hardieker, 

"You was his girl, I know. 
"I ship mineselfs to-morrow, see, 

"Und round the Skaw we go, 
"South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm, 

"To Besser in Saro." 

When love rejected turns to hate, 

All ill betide the man. 
"You speak to Salem Hardieker" — 

She spoke as woman can. 
A scream — a sob — "He called me — names!" 

And then the fray began. 

An oath from Salem Hardieker, 

A shriek upon the stairs, 
A dance of shadows on the wall, 

A knife-thrust unawares — 
And Hans came down, as cattle drop, 

Across the broken chairs. 



BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE 

In Anne of Austria's trembling hands 

The weary head fell low: — 
"I ship mineselfs to-morrow, straight 

"For Besser in Saro; 
"Und there Ultruda comes to me 

"At Easter, und I go. 

"South, down the Cattegat — What's here? 

" There — are — no — lights — to — guide ! " 
The mutter ceased, the spirit passed, 

And Anne of Austria cried 
In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house 

When Hans the mighty died. 

Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane, 

Bull-throated, bare of arm, 
But Anne of Austria looted first 

The maid Ultruda's charm — 
The little silver crucifix 

That keeps a man from harm. 



POSSIBILITIES 

Ay, lay him 'neath the Simla pine — 
A fortnight fully to be missed, 
Behold, we lose our fourth at whist, 

A chair is vacant where we dine. 

His place forgets him; other men 
Have bought his ponies, guns, and traps. 
His fortune is the Great Perhaps 

And that cool rest-house down the glen, 

Whence he shall hear, as spirits may, 
Our mundane revel on the height, 
Shall watch each flashing 'rickshaw-light 

Sweep on to dinner, dance, and play. 

Benmore shall woo him to the ball 
With lighted rooms and braying band: 
And he shall hear and understand 

"Dream Faces" better than us all. 
86 



POSSIBILITIES 87 

For, think you, as the vapours flee 

Across Sanjaolie after rain, 

His soul may climb the hill again 
To each old field of victory. 

Unseen, who women held so dear, 
The strong man's yearning to his kind 
Shall shake at most the window-blind, 

Or dull awhile the card-room's cheer. 

In his own place of power unknown, 
His Light o' Love another's flame, 
His dearest pony galloped lame, 

Arid he an alien and alone. 

Yet may he meet with many a friend- 
Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen 
Among us when " God save the Queen" 

Shows even "extras" have an end. 

And, when we leave the heated room, 
And, when at four the lights expire, 
The crew shall gather round the fire 

And mock our laughter in the gloom. 



88 POSSIBILITIES 

Talk as we talked, and they ere death — 
First wanly, danced in ghostly wise, 
With ghosts of tunes for melodies, 

And vanished at the morning's breath! 



ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER 

A great and glorious thing it is 
To learn, for seven years or so, 

The Lord knows what of that and this, 
Ere reckoned fit to face the foe — 

The flying bullet down the Pass, 

That whistles clear: — "All flesh is grass." 

Three hundred pounds per annum spent 
On making brairi and body meeter 

For all the murderous intent 
Comprised in "villanous saltpeter!" 

And after? — Ask the Yusufzaies 

What comes of all our 'ologies. 

A scrimmage in a Border Station — 
A canter down some dark defile — 

Two thousand pounds of education 
Drops to a ten-rupee jezail — 

The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride, 

Shot like a rabbit in a ride! 
89 



go ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER 

No proposition Euclid wrote, 
No formulae the text-books know, 

Will turn the bullet from your coat, 
Or ward the tulwar's downward blow. 

Strike hard who cares — shoot straight who can- 

The odds are on the cheaper man. 

One sword-knot stolen from the camp 
Will pay for all the school-expenses 

Of any Kurrum Valley scamp 
Who knows no word of moods and tenses, 

But, being blest with perfect sight, 

Picks off our messmates left and right. 

With home-bred hordes the hill-sides teem, 
The troop-ships bring us one by one, 

At vast expense of time and steam, 
To slay Afridis where they run. 

The " captives of our bow and spear " 

Are cheap, alas! as we are dear. 



THE SONG OF THE WOMEN 

(Lady Dufferin's Fund for Medical Aid to the Women 
of India.) 

How shall she know the worship we could do her? 

The walls are high and she is very far. 
How shall the women's message reach unto her 
Above the tumult of the packed bazar? 
Free wind of March, against the lattice blowing, 
Bear thou our thanks lest she depart unknowing. 

Go forth across the fields we may not roam in, 
Go forth beyond the trees that rim the city 
To whatsoe'er fair place she hath her home in, 
Who dowered us with wealth of love and pity. 
Out of our shadow pass and seek her singing — 
"I have no gifts but Love alone for bringing." 

Say that we be a feeble folk who greet her, 
But old in grief, and very wise in tears; 

Say that we, being desolate, entreat her 
That she forget us not in after years; 

91 



92 THE SONG OF THE WOMEN 

For we have seen the light, and it were grievous 
To dim that dawning if our lady leave us. 

By life that ebbed with none to staunch the failing 

By Love's sad harvest garnered in the spring, 
When Love in Ignorance wept unavailing 
O'er young buds dead before their blossoming; 
By all the gray owl watched — the pale moon 

viewed, 
In past grim years declare our gratitude! 

By hands uplif ted to the Gods that heard not, 

By gifts that found no favour in Their sight, 
By faces bent above the babe that stirred not, 
By nameless horrors of the stifling night; 
By ills foredone, by peace her toils discover, 
Bid Earth be good beneath and Heaven above 
her! 

If she have sent her servants in our pain, 
If she have fought with Death and dulled his 
sword; 
If she have given back our sick again, 
And to the breast the weakling lips restored, 
Is it a little thing that she has wrought? 
Then Life and Death and Motherhood be naught 



THE SONG OF THE WOMEN 93 

Go forth, wind, our message on thy wings, 

And they shall hear thee pass and bid thee speed, 
In reed-roofed hut, or white-walled home of kings, 
Who have been holpen by her in their need. 
All spring shall give thee fragrance, and the wheat 
Shall be a tasselled floorcloth to thy feet. 

Haste, for our hearts are with thee, take no rest! 

Loud-voiced ambassador, from sea to sea 
Proclaim the blessing, manifold, confest, 
Of those in darkness by her hand set free, 
Then very softly to her presence move, 
And whisper: "Lady, lo, they know and love! ,, 



THE BETROTHED 

" You must choose between me and your cigar." 

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, 
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and \ 
are out. 

We quarrelled about Havanas — we fought o'er a 

good cheroot, 
And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a 

brute. 

Open the old cigar-box — let me consider a space; 
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's 
face. 

Maggie is pretty to look at — Maggie's a loving lass, 
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of 
loves must pass. 

9* 



THE BETROTHED 95 

There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry 

Clay, 
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown 

away — 

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and 

brown — 
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the 

talko' the town! 

Maggie, my wife at fifty — gray and dour and old — 
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or 
gold! 

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of 

. the Days that Are, 
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a 
dead cigar — 

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in 

your pocket — 
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and 

black to the socket. 

Open the old cigar-box — let me consider awhile — 
Here is a mild Manilla — there is a wifely smile. 



96 THE BETROTHED 

Which is the better portion — bondage bought with a 

ring, 
Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string? 

Counsellors cunning and silent — comforters true 

and tried, 
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride. 

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes, 
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eye- 
lids close. 

This will the fifty give me, asking naught in return, 
With only a Suttee's passion — to do their duty and 
burn. 

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and 

dead, 
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead. 

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish 

Main, 
When they hear my harem is empty, will send me my 

brides again. 



THE BETROTHED 97 

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their 

mouths withal, 
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers 

fall. 

I will scent 'em with best Vanilla, with tea will I 

temper their hides, 
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read 

of the tale of my brides. 

For Maggie has written a letter that gives me my 

choice between 
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god 

Nick o' Teen. 

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelve- 
month clear, 

But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven 
year; 

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with 

the cheery light 
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure 

and Work and Fight. 



"7 



98 THE BETROTHED 

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I 

must prove, 
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the- 

Wisp of Love. 

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me 

bogged in the mire? 
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the 

fitful fire? 

Open the old cigar-box — let me consider anew — 
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should aban- 
don you ? 

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the 

yoke; 
And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a 

Smoke. 

Light me another Cuba — I hold to my first-sworn 

vows, 
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for 

spouse! 



A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL 

One moment bid the horses wait, 

Since tiffin is not laid till three, 
Below the upward path and strait 

You climbed a year ago with me. 
Love came upon us suddenly 

And loosed — an idle hour to kill — 
A headless, harmless armoury 

That smote us both on Jakko Hill. 



Ah Heaven ! we would wait and wait 

Through Time and to Eternity! 
Ah Heaven! we would conquer Fate 

With more than Godlike constancy! 
I cut the date upon a tree — 

Here stand the clumsy figures still:— 
"10-7-85, A. D." 

Damp with the mist on Jakko Hill. 
99 



ioo A BALLADE OF JAKKO HILL 

What came of high resolve and great, 

And until Death fidelity? 
Whose horse is waiting at your gate? 

Whose 'rickshaw-wheels ride over me? 
No Saint's, I swear; and — let me see 

To-night what names your programme fill- 
We drift asunder merrily, 

As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill! 

L'envoi 

Woman, behold our ancient state 

Has clean departed; and we see 
'Twas Idleness we took for Fate 

That bound light bonds on you and me. 
Amen! Here ends the comedy 

Where it began in all good will, 
Since Love and Leave together flee 

As driven mist on Jakko Hill! 



THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS 

Too late, alas! the song 
To remedy the wrong; — 
The rooms are taken from us, swept and garnished for 

their fate, 
But these tear-besprinkled pages 
Shall attest to future ages 
That we cried against the crime of it — too late, alas! 

too late! 

"What have we ever done to bear this grudge?" 

Was there no room save only in Benmore 
For docket, duftar, and for office drudge, 

That you usurp our smoothest dancing floor? 
Must babus do their work on polished teak? 

Are ball-rooms fittest for the ink you spill? 
Was there no other cheaper house to seek? 

You might have left them all at Strawberry Hill. 

We never harmed you ! Innocent our guise, 
Dainty our shining feet, our voices low; 

IOT 



io2 THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS 

And we revolved to divers melodies, 

And we were happy but a year ago. 
To-night the moon that watched our lightsome wiles — 

That beamed upon us through the deodars — 
Is wan with gazing on official files, 

And desecrating desks disgust the stars. 

Nay ! by the memory of tuneful nights — 

Nay! by the witchery of flying feet — 
Nay! by the glamour of foredone delights — 

By all things merry, musical, and meet — 
By wine that sparkled, and by sparkling eyes — 

By wailing waltz — by reckless gallop's strain— 
By dim verandahs and by soft replies, 

Give us our ravished ball-room back again! 

Or — hearken to the curse we lay on you! 

The ghosts of waltzes shall perplex your brain, 
And murmurs of past merriment pursue 

Your 'wildered clerks that they indite in vain; 
And when you count your poor Provincial millions. 

The only figures that your pen shall frame 
Shall be the figures of dear, dear cotillons 

Danced out in tumult long before you came. 



THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS 103 

Yea! "See Saw" shall upset your estimates, 

"Dream-faces" shall your heavy heads bemuse. 
Because your hand, unheeding, desecrates 

Our temple; fit for higher, worthier use. 
And all the long verandahs, eloquent 

With echoes of a score of Simla years, 
Shall plague you with unbidden sentiment — 

Babbling of kisses, laughter, love, and tears. 

So shall you mazed amid old memories stand, 
So shall you toil, and shall accomplish naught. 

And ever in your ears a phantom Band 
Shall blare away the staid official thought. 

Wherefore — and ere this awful curse be spoken, 
Cast out your swarthy, sacrilegious train, 

And give — ere dancing cease and hearts be broken- 
Give us our ravished ball-room back again! 



"AS THE BELL CLINKS" 

As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a 

comely 
Maid last season worshipped dumbly, watched with 

fervour from afar; 
And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would 

greet me kindly. 
That was all — the rest was settled by the clinking 

tonga-bar. 
Ay, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga 

coupling bar. 

For my misty meditation, at the second changing- 

station, 
Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tuneless 

jar 
Of a Wagner obbligato, scherzo, double-hand staccato, 
Played on either pony's saddle by the clacking 

tonga-bar— 
Played with human speech, I fancied, by the jigging, 

jolting bar. 

104 



"AS THE BELL CLINKS" 105 

"She was sweet," thought I, "last season, but 'twere 

surely wild unreason 
" Such a tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my 

Star, 
"When she whispered, something sadly: — 'I — we 

feel your going badly? ' " 
"And you let the chance escape you?" rapped the 

rattling tonga-bar. 
"What a chance and what an idiot!" clinked the 

vicious tonga-bar. 

Heart of man — Oh heart of putty! Had I gone by 

Kakahutti, 
On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had 'scaped that 

fatal car: 
But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched the 

milestones slide by. 
To — "You call on Her to-morrow!" — fugue with 

cymbals by the bar — 
"You must call on Her to-morrow! " — post-horn gallop 

by the bar. 

Yet a further stage my goal on — we were whirling 

down to Solon, 
With a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, 

ganz und gar — 



io6 "AS THE BELL CLINKS" 

" She was very sweet/' I hinted. " If a kiss had been 

imprinted ? " 

" Would ha' saved a world of trouble! " clashed the busy 

tonga-bar. 
" 'Been accepted or rejected I " banged and clanged the 

tonga-bar. 

Then a notion wild and daring, 'spite the income tax's 

paring 
And a hasty thought of sharing — less than many 

incomes are 
Made me put a question private, you can guess what 

I would drive at. 
"You must work the sum to prove it" clanked the 

careless tonga-bar. 
"Simple Rule of Two will prove it" lilted back the 

tonga-bar. 

It was under Khyraghaut I mused:— Suppose the 

maid be haughty — 
"[There are lovers rich — and forty] wait some 

wealthy Avatar? 
" Answer ^ monitor untiring, 'twixt the ponies twain 

perspiring 1" 



"AS THE BELL CLINKS" 107 

"Faint heart never won fair lady," creaked the strain- 
ing tonga-bar. 

"Can I tell you ere you ask Her?" pounded slow the 
tonga-bar. 

Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights of 

Simla burning, 
Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame by far. 
As below the Mall we jingled, through my very heart 

it tingled — 
The reiterated order of the threshing tonga-bar:— 
"Try your luck— you can't do better!" twanged the 

loosened tonga-bar. 



CHRISTMAS IN INDIA 

Dim dawn behind the tamarisks — the sky is saffron* 
yellow — 
As the women in the village grind the corn, 
And the parrots seek the river-side, each calling to his 
fellow 
That the Day, the staring Eastern Day, is born. 
Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the 
stenches in the byway! 
Oh the clammy fog that hovers over earth! 
And at Home they're making merry 'neath the 
white and scarlet berry — 
What part have India's exiles in their mirth? 

Full day behind the tamarisks — the sky is blue and 
staring — 
As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, 
And they bear One o'er the field-path who is past all 
hope or caring, 
To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke. 

108 



CHRISTMAS IN INDIA 109 

Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother 
lowly — 
Call on Rama — he may hear, perhaps, your 
voice! 
With our hymnbooks and our psalters we appeal 
to other altars, 
And to-day we bid "good Christian men 
rejoice!" 

High noon behind the tamarisks — the sun is hot 
above us — 
As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan. 
They will drink our healths at dinner — those who 
tell us how they love us, 
And forget us till another year be gone ! 

Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the 
heimweh, ceaseless, aching! 
Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain! 
Youth was cheap — wherefore we sold it. 
Gold was good — we hoped to hold it, . 
And to-day we know the fulness of our gain. 

Gray dusk behind the tamarisks— the parrots fly 
together — 
As the Sun is sinking slowly over Home; 



no CHRISTMAS IN INDIA 

And his last ray turns to jeer us shackled in a life-long 
tether 
That drags us back howe'er so far we roam. 
Hard her service, poor her payment — she in 
ancient, tattered raiment — 
India, she the grim stepmother of our kind. 
If a year of life be lent her, if her temple's shrine 
we enter, 
The door is shut — we may not look behind. 

Black night behind the tamarisks — the owls begin 
their chorus — 
As the conches from the temple scream and bray 
With the fruitless years behind us and the hopeless 
years before us, 
Let us honour, oh my brothers, Christmas Day! 
Call a truce, then, to our labours — let us feast 
with friends and neighbours, 
And be merry as the custom of our caste; 
For, if "faint and forced the laughter," and if 
sadness follow after, 
We are richer by one mocking Christmas past. 



THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 

There's a widow in sleepy Chester 

Who weeps for her only son; 
There's a grave on the Pabeng River, 

A grave that the Burmans shun, 
And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri 

Who tells how the work was done. 

A Snider squibbed in the jungle — 

Somebody laughed and fled, 
And the men of the first Shikaris 

Picked up their Subaltern dead, 
With a big blue mark in his forehead 

And the back blown out of his head. 

Subadar Prag Tewarri, 

Jemadar Hira Lai, 
Took command of the party, 

Twenty rifles in all; 
Marched them down to the river 

As the day was beginning to faU. 
in 



ii2 THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 

They buried the boy by the river, 

A blanket over his face — 
They wept for their dead Lieutenant, 

The men of an alien race — 
They made a samddh in his honour, 

A mark for his resting-place. 

For they swore by the Holy Water, 
They swore by the salt they ate, 

That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib 
Should go to his God in state; 

With fifty file of Burman 
To open him Heaven's gate. 

The men of the First Shikaris 

Marched till the break of day, 
Till they came to the rebel village, 

The village of Pabengmay — 
hjingal covered the clearing, 

Calthrops hampered the way. 

Subadar Prag Tewarri, 

Bidding them load with ball, 
Halted a dozen rifles 

Under the village-wall; 



THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 113 

Sent out a flanking party 
With Jemadar Hira Lai. 

The men of the First Shikaris 

Shouted and smote and slew, 
Turning the grinning jingal 

On to the howling crew. 
The Jemadar's flanking-party 

Butchered the folk who flew. 

Long was the morn of slaughter, 

Long was the list of slain, 
Five score heads were taken 

Five score heads and twain; 
And the men of the First Shikaris 

Went back to their grave again; 

Each man bearing a basket 

Red as his palms that day, 
Red as the blazing village — 

The village of Pabengmay. 
And the "drip-drip-drip" from the baskets 

Reddened the grass by the way. 

They made a pile of their trophies 
High as a tall man's chin, 



H4 THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD 

Head upon head distorted, 

Clinched in a sightless grin, 
Anger and pain and terror 

Writ on the smoke-scorched skin. 

Subadar Prag Tewarri 

Set the head of the Boh 
On the top of the mound in triumph 

The head of his son below, 
With the sword and the peacock-banner 

That the world might behold and know. 

Thus the samddh was perfect, 

Thus was the lesson plain 
Of the wrath of the First Shikaris — 

The price of a white man slain; 
And the men of the First Shikaris 

Went back into camp again. 

Then a silence came to the river, 

A hush fell over the shore, 
And Bohs that were brave departed, 
And Sniders squibbed no more; 
For the Burmans said 
That a kuttah's head 
Must be paid for with heads five score. 



THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD n S 

There's a widow in sleepy Chester 

Who weeps for her only son; 
There's a grave on the Pabeng River, 

A grave that the Burmans shun, 
And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri 

Who tells how the work was don$. 



AN OLD SONG 

So long as 'neath the Kalka hills 

The tonga-horn shall ring, 
So long as down the Solon dip 

The hard-held ponies swing; 
So long as Tara Devi sees 

The lights o' Simla town, 
So long as Pleasure calls us up, 

And duty drives us down, 
// you love me as I love you 
What pair so happy as we two ? 

So long as Aces take the King, 

Or backers take the bet, 
So long as debt leads men to wed; 

Or marriage leads to debt; 
So long as little luncheons, Love, 
And scandal hold their vogue, 
While there is sport at Annandale 
Or whiskey at Jutogh, 

7/ you love me as I love you 
What knite can cut our love in two f 
116 



AN OLD SONG 117 

So long as down the rocking floor 

The raving polka spins, 
So long as Kitchen Lancers spur 

The maddened violins; 
So long as through the whirling smoke 

We hear the oft- told tale: — 
"Twelve hundred in the Lotteries,' , 

And Whatshername for sale? 
If you love me as I love you 
We'll play the game and win it too. 

So long as Lust or Lucre tempt 

Straight riders from the course, 
So long as with each drink we pour 

Black brewage of Remorse; 
So long as those unloaded guns 

We keep beside the bed, 
Blow off, by obvious accident, 

The lucky owner's head, 
If you love me as I love you 
What can Life kill or Death undo ? 

So long as Death 'twixt dance and dance 
Chills best and bravest blood 



Ii8 AN OLD SONG 

And drops the reckless rider down 

The rotten, rain-soaked khud; 
So long as rumours from the North 

Make loving wives afraid, 
So long as Burma claims the boy, 
And typhoid kills the maid, 
If you love me as I love you 
What knife can cut our love in two ? 

By all that lights our daily life 

Or works our lifelong woe, 
From Boileaugurige to Simla Downs 

And those grim glades below, 
Where heedless of the flying hoof 

And clamour overhead, 
Sleep, with the gray-langur for guard 

Our very scornful Dead, 
If you love me as I love you 
All Earth is servant to us two! 

By Docket, Billetdoux, and File, 
By Mountain, Cliff, and Fir, 

By Fan and Sword and Office-box, 
Bv Corset, Plume, and Spur; 



AN OLD SONG «g 

By Riot, Revel, Waltz, and War, 

By Woman, Work, and Bills, 
By all the life that fizzes in 
The everlasting Hills, 
If you love me as I love you 
What pair so happy as we two ? 



CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 



If It be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed 
serai, 

Does not the Young Man try Its temper and pace 
ere he buy? 

If She be pleasant to look on, what does the Young 
Man say? 

"Lo! She is pleasant to look on, give Her to me to- 
day !" 

2 

Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted Jehannum 
If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty per cent, 
per annum. 

3 
Blister we not for bursati ? So when the heart is vext ., 
The pain of one maiden's refusal is drowned in the 
pain of the next. 

1 20 



CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 121 

4 
The temper of chums, the love of your wife, and a 

new piano's tune — 
Which of the three will you trust at the end of an 

Indian June? 

5 
Who are the rulers of Ind — to whom shall we bow the 

knee? 

Make your peace with the women, and men will 

make you L. G. 

6 

Does the woodpecker flit round the young ferash ? 

Does grass clothe a new-built wall? 

Is she under thirty the woman who holds a boy in her 

thrall? 

7 
If She grows suddenly gracious — reflect. Is it all for 

thee? 
The blackbuck is stalked through the bullock, and 

Man through jealousy. 

8 
Seek not for favour of women. So shall you find it 

indeed. 
Does not the boar break cover just when you're 

lighting a weed? 



122 CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 

9 
If He play, being young and unskilful, for shekels of 

silver and gold, 
Take His money, my son, praising Allah. The kid 

was ordained to be sold. 

10 

With a "weed" among men or horses verily this is 

the best, 
That you work him in office or dog-cart lightly — but 

give him no rest. 

ii 

Pleasant the snaffle of Courtship, improving the 

manners and carriage, 
But the colt who is wise will abstain from the terrible 

thorn-bit of Marriage; 



12 

As the thriftless gold of the babul so is the gold that 

we spend 
On a Derby Sweep, or our neighbour's wife, or the 

horse that we buv from a friend. 



V 



CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 123 

The ways of man with a maid be strange, yet simple 

and tame 
To the ways of a man with a horse, when selling or 

racing that same. 

14 
In public Her face turneth to thee, and pleasant 

Her smile when ye meet. 
It is ill. The cold rocks of El-Gidar smile thus on the 

waves at their feet. 
In public Her face is averted, with anger She nameth 

thy name. 
It is well. Was there ever a loser content with the 

loss of the game? 

15 
If She have spoken a word, remember thy lips are 

sealed, 
And the Brand of the Dog is upon him by whom is 

the secret revealed. 
If She have written a letter, delay not an instant but 

burn it. 
Tear it in pieces, O Fool, and the wind to her mate 

shall return it! 



124 CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 

If there be trouble to Herward, and a lie of the 

blackest can clear, 
Lie, while thy lips can move or a man is alive to hear. 

16 

My Son, if a maiden deny thee and scuffiingly bid 

thee give o'er, 
Yet lip meets with lip at the lastward — get out! 

She has been there before. 
They are pecked on the ear and the chin and the nose 

who are lacking in lore. 

17 
If we fall in the race, though we win, the hoof-slide is 

scarred on the course 
Though Allah and Earth pardon Sin, remaineth for 

ever Remorse. 

18 

"By all I am misunderstood !" if the Matron shall 

say, or the Maid: — 
"Alas! I do not understand," my son, be thou nowise 

afraid. 
In vain in the sight of the Bird is the net of the 

Fowler displayed. 



CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ 125 

My son, if I, Hafiz, thy father, take hold of thy knees 

in my pain, 
Demanding thy name on stamped paper, one day or 

one hour — refrain. 
Are the links of thy fetters so light that thou cravest 

another man's chain? 



THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS 

Beneath the deep verandah's shade, 

When bats begin to fly, 
I sit me down and watch — alas 

Another evening die. 
Blood-red behind the sere ferash 

She rises through the haze. 
Sainted Diana ! can that be 

The Moon of Other Days? 

Ah! shade of little Kitty Smith, 

Sweet Saint of Kensington! 
Say, was it ever thus at Home 

The Moon of August shone, 
When arm in arm we wandered long 

Through Putney's evening haze, 
And Hammersmith was Heaven beneath 

The Moon of Other Days? 

But Wandle's stream is Sutlej now, 
And Putney's evening haze 
126 



[ THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS 127 

The dust that half a hundred kine 

Before my window raise. 
Unkempt, unclean, athwart the mist 

The seething city looms, 
In place of Putney's golden gorse 

The sickly babul blooms. 

Glare down, old Hecate, through the dust 

And bid the pie-dog yell, 
Draw from the drain its typhoid germ, 

From each bazar its smell; 
Yea, suck the fever from the tank 

And sap my strength therewith: 
Thank Heaven, you show a smiling face 

To little Kitty Smith! 



THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE 

This fell when dinner-time was done — 
'Twixt the first an' the second rub — 

That oor mon Jock cam' hame again 
To his rooms ahint the Club. 

An' syne he laughed, an' syne he sang, 

An' syne we thocht him f ou, 
An' syne he trumped his partner's trick, 

An' garred his partner rue. 

Then up and spake an elder mon, 

That held the Spade its Ace — 
"God save the lad I Whence comes the licht 

"That wimples on his face?" 

An' Jock he sniggered, an' Jock he smiled, 
An' ower the card-brim wunk: — 

"I'm a' too fresh fra' the stirrup-peg, 
"May be that I am drunk." 

128 



THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE 129 

" There's whusky brewed in Galashiels^ 

"An' L. L. L. forbye; 
"But never liquor lit the low 

"That keeks fra' oot your eye. 

"There's a thrid o' hair on your dress-coat breast 

" Aboon the heart a wee? " 
"Oh! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye 

"That slobbers ower me." 

"Oh! lang-haired Skyes are lovin' beasts, 

"An' terrier dogs are fair, 
"But never yet was terrier born, 

" Wi' ell-lang gowden hair ! 

"There's a smirch o' pouther on your breast 

"Below the left lappel?" 
"Oh! that is fra' my auld cigar, 

" Whenas the stump-end fell." 

"Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse, 

"For ye are short o' cash. 
"An' best Havannahs couldna leave, 

"Sae white an' pure an ash. 



130 THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE 

"This nicht ye stopped a story braid, 

"An* stopped it wi' a curse — 
"Last nicht ye told that tale yoursel, 

"An' capped it wi' a worse! 

" Oh ! we're no f ou ! Oh ! we're no f ou ! 

"But plainly we can ken 
" Ye're fallin', fallin', fra' the band 

"O' cantie single men!" 

An* it fell when wrm-shaws were sere, 
An* the nichts were lang and mirk, 

In braw new breeks, wi' a gowden ring, 
Oor Joclrie gaed to the Kirk, 



WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID 

[June 2ist, 1887] 

By the well, where the bullocks go 

Silent and blind and slow — 

By the field, where the young corn dies 

In the face of the sultry skies, 

They have heard, as the dull Earth hears 

The voice of the wind of an hour, 

The sound of the Great Queen's voice:— 

"My God hath given me years, 

"Hath granted dominion and power: 

"And I bid you, O Land, rejoice." 

And the Ploughman settles the share 
More deep in the grudging clod; 
For he saith: — "The wheat is my care 
"And the rest is the will of God. 
"He sent the Mahratta spear 
"As He sendeth the rain, 
"And the Mlech, in the fated year, 
"Broke the spear in twain, 



i 3 2 WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID 

"And was broken in turn. Who knows 
"How our Lords make strife? 
"It is good that the young wheat grows ; 
"For the bread is Life." 

Then, far and near, as the twilight drew, 

Hissed up to the scornful dark 
Great serpents, blazing, of red and blue, 
That rose and faded, and rose anew, 

That the Land might wonder and mark. 
"To-day is a day of days," they said, 
"Make merry, O People all!" 
And the Ploughman listened and bowed his head: 
"To-day and to-morrow God's Will," he said, 
As he trimmed the lamps on the wall. 

"He sendeth us years that are good, 

"As He sendeth the dearth. 

"He giveth to each man his food, 

"Or Her food to the Earth. 

"Our Kings and our Queens are afar — 

"On their peoples be peace — 

" God bringeth the rain to the Bar, 

"That our cattle increase." 



WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID 133 

And the Ploughman settled the share 

More deep in the sun-dried clod: — 

"Mogul, Mahratta, and Mlech from the North, 

"And White Queen over the Seas — 

" God raise th them up and drive th them forth 

"As the dust of the ploughshare flies in the breeze; 

"But the wheat and the cattle are all my care, 

"And the rest is the will of God." 



THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE 

"To-tschin-shu is condemned to death. How can he drink 
tea with the executioner ?" — Japanese Proverb. 

The eldest son bestrides him, 

And the pretty daughter rides him, 

And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course; 

And there wakens in my bosom 

An emotion chill and gruesome 

As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse. 

Neither shies he nor is restive, 
But a hideously suggestive 
Trot, professional and placid, he affects; 
And the cadence of his hoof-beats 
To my mind this grim reproof beats:- — 
"Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. Who's 
the next?" 

Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen, 
I have watched the strongest go — men 

134 



THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE 135 

Of pith and might and muscle — at your heels, 
Down the plantain-bordered highway 
(Heaven send it ne'er be my way!), 
In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels. 

Answer, sombre Deast and dreary, 

Where is Brown, the young, the cheery, 

Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force? 

You were at that last dread dak 

We must cover at a walk, 

Bring them back to me, Undertaker's Horse! 

With your mane unhogged and flowing, 

And your curious way of going, 

And that business-like black crimping of your tail, 

E'en with Beauty on your back, Sir, 

Pacing as a lady's hack, Sir, 

What wonder when I meet you I turn pale? 

It may be you wait your time, Beast, 

Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast, 

Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass, 

Follow after with the others, 

Where some dusky heathen smothers 

Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass. 



i 3 6 THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE 

Or, perchance, in years to follow, 

I shall watch your plump sides hollow, 

See Carnif ex (gone lame) become a corse, 

See old age at last o'erpower you, 

And the Station Pack devour you, 

I shall chuckle then, Undertaker's Horse! 

But to insult, gibe, and quest, I've 
Still the hideously suggestive 
Trot that hammers out the unrelenting text, 
And I hear it hard behind me 
In what place soe'er I find me: — 
"Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who's tht 
next?" 



ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 
Lord Dufferin to Lord Landsdowne:— 

So here's your Empire. No more wine, then? Good. 
We'll clear the Aides and khitmatgars away. 
(You'll know that fat old fellow with the knife — 
He keeps the Name Book, talks in English, too, 
And almost thinks himself the Government.) 

Youth, Youth, Youth! Forgive me, you're so 

young. 
Forty from sixty — twenty years of work 
And power to back the working. Ay de mi ! 
You want to know, you want to see, to touch 
And, by your lights, to act. It's natural. 

1 wonder can I help you. Let me try. 

You saw — what did you see from Bombay east ? 
Enough to frighten any one but me? 
Near that ! It frightened Me in Eighty-Four ! 
You shouldn't take a man from Canada 
And bid him smoke in powder-magazines; 
Nor with a Reputation such as . . . Bah! 
That ghost has haunted me for twenty years, 

i37 



i 3 8 ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 

My Reputation now full-blown — Your fault — 

Yours, with your stories of the strife at Home, 

Who's up, who's down, who leads and who is led — 

One reads so much, one hears so little here. 

Well, now's your turn of exile. I go back 

To Rome and leisure. All roads lead to Rome. 

Or books — the refuge of the destitute. 

When you . . . that brings me back to India. See! 

Start clear. / couldn't. Egypt served my turn. 
You'll never plumb the Oriental mind, 
And if you did it isn't worth the toil. 
Think of a sleek French priest in Canada; 
Divide by twenty half-breeds. Multiply 
By twice the Sphinx's silence. There's your East, 
And you're as wise as ever. So am I. 

Accept on trust and work in darkness, strike 
At a venture, stumble forward, make your mark, 
(It's chalk on granite,) then thank God no flame 
Leaps from the rock to shrivel mark and man. 
I'm clear — my mark is made. Three months oi 

drouth 
Had ruined much. It rained and washed away 
The specks that might have gathered on my Name. 
I took a country twice the size of France, 



ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 139 

And shuttered up one doorway in the North. 

I stand by those. You'll find that both will pay, 

I pledged my Name on both— they're yours to-night. 

Hold to them — they hold fame enough for two. 

I'm old, but I shall live till Burma pays. 

Men there — not German traders— Cr-sthw-te 

knows — 
You'll find it in my papers. For the North 
Guns always — quietly — but always guns. 
You've seen your Council? Yes, they'll try to rule, 
And prize their Reputations. Have you met 
A grim lay-reader with a taste for coins, 
And faith in Sin most men withhold from God? 
He's gone to England. R-p-n knew his grip 
And kicked. A Council always has its H-pes. 
They look for nothing from the West but Death 
Or Bath or Bournemouth. Here's their ground. 

They fight 
Until the middle classes take them back, 
One of ten millions plus a C. S. I. 
Or drop in harness. Legion of the Lost? 
Not altogether — earnest, narrow men, 
But chiefly earnest, and they'll do your work, 
And end by writing letters to the Times. 



i 4 o ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 

(Shall / write letters, answering H-nt-r — fawn 
With R-p-n on the Yorkshire grocers? Ugh !) 
They have their Reputations. Look to one — 
I work with him — the smallest of them all, 
White-haired, red-faced, who sat the plunging horse 
Out in the garden. He's your right-hand man, 
And dreams of tilting W-ls-y from the throne, 
But while he dreams gives work he cannot buy; 
He has his Reputation — wants the Lords 
By way of Frontier Roads. Meantime, I think, 
He values very much the hand that falls 
Upon his shoulder at the Council table — 
Hates cats and knows his business: which is yours. 

Your business! Twice a hundred million souls. 
Your business ! I could tell you what I did 
Some nights of Eighty-Five, at Simla, worth 
A Kingdom's ransom. When a big ship drives 
God knows to what new reef, the man at the wheel 
Prays with the passengers. They lose their lives. 
Or rescued go their way; but he's no man 
To take his trick at the wheel again — that's worse 
Than drowning. Well, a galled Mashobra mule 
(You'll see Mashobra) passed me on the Mall, 
And I was — some fool's wife had ducked and bowed 



ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 141 

To show the others I would stop and speak. 

Then the mule fell — three galls, a hand-breadth each 

Behind the withers. Mrs. Whatsisname 

Leers at the mule and me by turns, thweet thoul! 

"How could they make him carry such a load! " 

I saw — it isn't often I dream dreams — 

More than the mule that minute— smoke and flame 

From Simla to the haze below. That's weak. 

You're younger. You'll dream dreams before you've 

done. 
You've youth, that's one— good workmen— that 

means two 
Fair chances in your favour. Fate's the third. 
I know what J did. Do you ask me, "Preach? " 
I answer by my past or else go back 
To platitudes of rule — or take you thus 
In confidence and say: — "You know the trick: 
" You've governed Canada. You know. You know !" 
And all the while commend you to Fate's hand 
(Here at the top one loses sight o' God), 
Commend you, then, to something more than you — 
The Other People's blunders . . . that's all. 
I'd agonize to serve you if I could. 
It's incommunicable, like the cast 



142 ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 

That drops the tackle with the gut adry. 

Too much — too little — there's your salmon lost S 

And so I tell you nothing — wish you luck, 

And wonder — how I wonder! — for your sake 

And triumph for my own. You're young, you're 

young, 
You hold to half a hundred Shibboleths. 
I'm old. I followed Power to the last, 
Gave her my best, and Power followed Me. 
It's worth it — on my soul I'm speaking plain, 
Here by the claret glasses! — worth it all. 
I gave — no matter what I gave — I win. 
I know I win. Mine's work, good work that lives! 
A country twice the size of France — the North 
Safeguarded. That's my record : sink the rest 
And better if you can. The Rains may serve, 
Rupees may rise — threepence will give you Fame — 
It's rash to hope for sixpence — If they rise 
Get guns, more guns, and lift the salt-tax. 

Oh! 
I told you what the Congress meant or thought? 
I'll answer nothing. Half a year will prove 
The full extent of time and thought you'll spare 
To Congress. Ask a Lady Doctor once 



ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 143 

How little Begums see the light — deduce 

Thence how the True Reformer's child is born. 

It's interesting, curious ... and vile. 

I told the Turk he was a gentleman. 

I told the Russian that his Tarter veins 

Bled pure Parisian ichor; and he purred. 

The Congress doesn't purr. I think it swears. 

You're young — you'll swear too ere you've reached 

the end. 
The End! God help you, if there be a God. 
(There must be one to startle Gl-dst-ne's soul 
In that new land where all the wires are cut, 
And Cr-ss snores anthems on the asphodel.) 
God help you ! And I'd help you if I could, 
But that's beyond me. Yes, your speech was crude. 
Sound claret after olives — yours and mine; 
But Medoc slips into vin ordinaire. 
(I'll drink my first at Genoa to your health) 
Raise it to Hock. You'll never catch my style. 
And, after all, the middle-classes grip 
The middle-class — for Brompton talk Earl's Court. 
Perhaps you're right. I'll see you in the Times — 
A quarter-column of eye-searing print, 
A leader once a quarter — then a war; 



144 ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 

The Strand abellow through the fog: — "Defeat!" 
" 'Orrible slaughter ! " While you lie awake 
And wonder. Oh, you'll wonder ere you're free! 
I wonder now. The four years slide away 
So fast, so fast, and leave me here alone. 
R — y C-lv-n, L — 1, R-b-rts, B-ck, the rest, 
Princes and Powers of Darkness, troops and trains, 
(I cannot sleep in trains,) land piled on land, 
Whitewash and weariness, red rockets, dust, 
White snows that mocked me, palaces — with 

draughts, 
And W-stl-nd with the drafts he couldn't pay, 
Poor W-ls-n reading his obituary 
Before he died, and H-pe, the man with bones, 
And A-tch-s-n a dripping mackintosh 
At Council in the Rains, his grating "Sirrr" 
Half drowned by H-nt-r's silky: — "Bat my 

lahd." 
Hunterian always: M-rsh-1 spinning plates 
Or standing on his head; the Rent Bill's roar, 
A hundred thousand speeches, much red cloth, 
And Smiths thrice happy if I call them Jones, 
(I can't remember half their names) or reined 
My pony on the Mall to greet their wives, 



ONE VICEROY RESIGNS 145 

More trains, more troops, more dust, and then all's 

done. 
Four years, and I forget. If I forget 
How will they bear me in their minds? The North 
Safeguarded — nearly (R-b-rts knows the rest), 
A country twice the size of France annexed. 
That stays at least. The rest may pass — may pass — 
Your heritage — and I can teach you naught. 
"High trust," "vast honour," "interests twice as 

vast," 
"Due reverence to your Council" — keep to those. 
t envy you the twenty years you've gained, 
But not the five to follow. What's that? One! 
Two! — Surely not so late. Good-night. Don't 

dream. 



THE GALLEY-SLAVE 

Oh gallant was our galley from her carven steering- 
wheel 

To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered 
steel; 

The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for 
cooler air, 

But no galley on the water with our galley could 
compare! 

Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts 

were stepped in gold — 
We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the hold; 
The white foam spun behind us, and the black shark 

swam below, 
As we gripped the kicking sweep-head and we made 

that galley go. 

'Twas merry in the galley, for we revelled now and 

then — 
If they wore us down like cattle, f aith, we fought an<? 

loved like men! 

146 



THE GALLEY-SLAVE 147 

As we snatched her through the water, so we 

snatched a minute's bliss, 
And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the lovers* 

kiss. 

Our women and our children toiled beside us in the 
dark — 

They died, we filed their fetters, and we heaved 

them to the shark — 
We heaved them to the fishes, but so fast the galley 

sped 
We had only time to envy, for we could not mourn 

our dead. 

Bear witness, once my comrades, what a hard-bit 

gang were we — 
The servants of the sweep-head but the masters of 

the sea! 
By the hands that drove her forward as she plunged 

and yawed and sheered, 
Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there anything 

we feared? 

Was it storm? Our fathers faced it and a wilder 
never blew; 



148 THE GALLEY-SLAVE 

Earth that waited for the wreckage watched the 

galley struggle through. 
Burning noon or choking midnight, Sickness, Sorrow, 

Parting, Death? 
Nay, our very babes would mock you had they time 

for idle breath. 

But to-day I leave the galley and another takes my 

place; 
There's my name upon the deck-beam — let it stand 

a little space. 
I am free — to watch my messmates beating out to 

open main. 
Free of all that Life can offer — save to handle sweep 

again. 

By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of cling- 
ing steel, 

By the welt the whips have left me, by the scars that 
never heal; 

By eyes grown old with staring through the sun- 
wash on the brine, 

I am paid in full for service — would that service still 
were mine! 



THE GALLEY-SLAVE 149 

Yet they talk of times and seasons and of woe the 

years bring forth, 
Of our galley swamped and shattered in the rollers of 

the North. 
When the niggers break the hatches and the decks 

are gay with gore. 
And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crashing on the 

shore. 



She will need no half-mast signal, minute-gun, or 

rocket-flare, 
When the cry for help goes seaward, she will find her 

servants there. 
Battered chain-gangs of the orlop, grizzled drafts of 

years gone by, 
To the bench that broke their manhood, they shall 

lash themselves and die. 



Hale and crippled, young and aged, paid, deserted, 

shipped away — 
Palace, cot, and lazaretto shall make up the tale that 

day 



ISO THE GALLEY-SLAVE 

When the skies are black above them, and the decks 
ablaze beneath, 

And the top-men clear the raffle with their clasp- 
knives in their teeth. 

It may be that Fate will give me life and leave to 

row once more — 
Set some strong man free for righting as I take awhile 

his oar. 
But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse her 

service then? 
God be thanked — whate'er comes alter, I have 

lived and toiled with Men! 



A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

Where the sober-coloured cultivator smiles 

On his bytes; 
Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the Crow 

Come and go; 
Where the merchant deals in indigo and tea, 

Hides and ghi; 
Where the Babu drops inflammatory hints 

In his prints; 
Stands a City — Charnock chose it — packed away 

Near a Bay — 
By the sewage rendered fetid, by the sewer 

Made impure, 
By the Sunderbunds unwholesome, by the swamp 

Moist and damp; 
And the City and the Viceroy, as we see, 

Don't agree. 

Once, two hundred years ago, the trader came 
Meek and tame. 
isi 



i 5 2 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

Where his timid foot first halted, there he stayed, 

Till mere trade 
Grew to Empire, and he sent his armies forth 

South and North. 
Till the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 

Was his own. 
Thus the midday halt of Charnock — more's the pity! 

Grew a City. 
As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed, 

So it spread — 
Chance-directed, chance-erected, laid and built 

On the silt — 
Palace, byre, hovel — poverty and pride — 

Side by Side; 
And, above the packed and pestilential town, 

Death looked down. 

But the Rulers in that City by the Sea, 

Turned to flee — 
Fled, with each returning Spring-tide from its ills 

To the Hills. 
From the clammy fogs of morning, from the blaze 

Of the days, 
From the sickness of the noontide, from the heat 

Beat retreat; 



A TALE OF TWO CITIES 153 

For the country from Peshawar to Ceylon 

Was their own. 
But the Merchant risked the perils of the Plain 

For his gain. 
Now the resting-place of Charnock, 'neath the palms> 

Asks an alms, 
And the burden of its lamentation is, 

Briefly, this: — 
" Because, for certain months, we boil and stew, 

" So should you. 
"Cast the Viceroy and his Council, to perspire 

"In our fire!" 
And for answer to the argument, in vain 

We explain 
That an amateur Saint Lawrence cannot cry: — 

"All must fry!" 
That the Merchant risks the perils of the Plain 

For his gain. 
Nor can Rulers rule a house that men grow rich in, 

From its kitchen. 

Let the Babu drop inflammatory hints 

In his prints; 
And mature — consistent soul — his plan: for stealing 

To Darjeeling: 



154 A TALE OF TWO CITIES 

Let the Merchant seek, who makes his silver pile, 

England's isle; 
Let the City Charnock pitched on — evil day I — 

Go Her way. 
Though the argosies of Asia at Her doors 

Heap their stores, 
Though Her enterprise and energy secure 

Income sure, 
Though "out-station orders punctually obeyed'' 

Swell Her trade — 
Still } for rule, administration, and the rest 

Simla's best. 



IN SPRINGTIME 

My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and 
the peach, 
And the k'dil sings above it, in the siris by the well, 
From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel's 
chattering speech, 
And the blue jay screams and flutters where the 
cheery satbhai dwell. 
But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the kail's note 
is strange; 
I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom- 
burdened bough. 
Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds 
of Springtime range- 
Give me back one day in England, for it's Spring in 
England now! 
Through the pines the gusts are booming, o'er the 
brown fields blowing chill, 
From the furrow of the plough-share streams the 
fragrance of the loam, 



156 IN SPRINGTIME 

And the hawk nests in the cliff side and the jackdaw 
on the hill, 
And my heart is back in England 'mid the sights 
and sounds of Home. 
But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of rose 
and peach is, 
Ah! koil, little koil, singing on the siris bough, 
In my ears the knell of exile your ceaseless bell-like 
speech is — 
Can you tell me aught of England or of Spring in 
England now? 



GIFFEN'S DEBT 

r mprimis he was " broke." Thereafter left 

His regiment and, later, took to drink; 

Then, having lost the balance of his friends, 

"Went Fantee" — joined the people of the land, 

Turned three parts Mussulman and one Hindu, 

And lived among the Gauri villagers, 

Who gave him shelter and a wife or twain, 

And boasted that a thorough, full-blood sahib 

Had come among them. Thus he spent his time. 

Deeply indebted to the village shroff, 

(Who never asked for payment) always drunk, 

Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels; 

Forgetting that he was an Englishman. 

You know they dammed the Gauri with a dam, 
And all the good contractors scamped their work, 
And all the bad material at hand 
Was used to dam the Gauri — which was cheap, 
And, therefore, proper. Then the Gauri burst, 
And several hundred thousand cubic tons 

151 



158 GIFFEN'S DEBT 

Of water dropped into the valley, flop, 

And drowned some five and twenty villagers, 

And did a lakh or two of detriment 

To crops and cattle. When the flood went down 

We found him dead, beneath an old dead horse, 

Full six miles down the valley. So we said 

He was a victim to the Demon Drink, 

And moralized upon him for a week, 

And then forgot him. Which was natural. 

But, in the valley of the Gauri, men 
Beneath the shadow of the big new dam, 
Relate a foolish legend of the flood, 
Accounting for the little loss of life 
(Only those five and twenty villagers) 
In this wise: — On the evening of the flood, 
They heard the groaning of the rotten dam, 
And voices of the Mountain Devils. Then 
An incarnation of the local God, 
Mounted upon a monster-neighing horse, 
And flourishing a flail-like whip, came down, 
Breathing ambrosia, to the villages, 
And fell upon the simple villagers 
With yells beyond the power of mortal throat, 
And blows beyond the power of mortal hand, 



GIFFEN'S DEBT 159 

And smote them with the flail-like whip, and drove 

Them clamorous with terror up the hill, 

And scattered, with the monster-neighing steed, 

Their crazy cottages about their ears, 

And generally cleared those villages. . 

Then came the water, and the local God, 

Breathing ambrosia, flourishing his whip, 

And mounted on his monster-neighing steed, 

Went down the valley with the flying trees 

And residue of homesteads, while they watched 

Safe on the mountain-side these wondrous things, 

And knew that they were much beloved of Heaven. 

Wherefore, and when the dam was newly built, 

They raised a temple to the local God, 

And burnt all manner of unsavoury things 

Upon his altar, and created priests, 

And blew into a conch and banged a bell, 

And told the story of the Gauri flood 

With circumstance and much embroidery. 

So be, the whiskified Objectionable, 

Unclean, abominable, out-at-heels, 

Became the tutelary Deity 

Of all the Gauri valley villages; 

And may in time become a Solar Myth. 



TWO MONTHS 

In June 

No hope, no change! The clouds have shut us in, 
And through the cloud the sullen Sun strikes down 
Full on the bosom of the tortured Town. 
Till Night falls heavy as remembered sin 
That will not suffer sleep or thought of ease. 
And, hour on hour, the dry-eyed Moon in spite 
Glares through the haze and mocks with watery 
light 
The torment of the uncomplaining trees. 
Far off, the Thunder bellows her despair 
To echoing Earth thrice parched. The lightnings fly 
In vain. No help the heaped-up clouds afford, 
But wearier weight of burdened, burning air. 
What truce with Dawn? Look, from the aching sky 
Day stalks, a tyrant with a flaming sword! 



160 



TWO MONTHS 
In September 

At dawn there was a murmur in the trees, 

A ripple on the tank, and in the air 

Presage of coming coolness — everywhere 
A voice of prophecy upon the breeze. 
Up leapt the Sun and smote the dust to gold, 

And strove to parch anew the heedless land, 
All impotently, as a King grown old 

Wars for the Empire crumbling 'neath his hand. 

One after one, the lotos-petals fell, 

Beneath the onslaught of the rebel year 

In mutiny against a furious sky; 

And far-off Winter whispered: — "It is well! 

"Hot Summer dies. Behold your help is near, 

: 'For when men's need is sorest, then come 'I." 



161 



L'ENVOI 

[To whom it may concern] 

The smoke upon your Altar dies, 

The flowers decay, 
The Goddess of your sacrifice 

Has flown away. 
What profit then to sing or slay 
The sacrifice from day to day? 

"We know the Shrine is void," they said, 

"The Goddess flown— 
"Yet wreaths are on the altar laid — 

"The Altar-Stone 
"Is black with fumes of sacrifice, 
"Albeit She has fled our eyes. 

"For, it may be, if still we sing 

"And tend the Shrine, 
"Some Deity on wandering wing 

"May there incline; 
"And, finding all in order meet, 
" Stay while we worship at Her feet." 

162 



BALLADS 

AND 

BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 



WOLCOTT BALESTIER 



Beyond the path of the outmost sun, through utter darkness 

hurled, 
Further than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled. 
Sit such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved, and made our 

world. 



They are purged of pride because they died; they know the worth 

of their bays; 
They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine, and the Gods of the 

Elder Days — 
It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth our Father's praise. 



'Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael's 

outposts are, 
Or buffet a path through the Pit's red wrath when God goes out 

to war, 
Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a redmaned ' 

star. 



They take their mirth in the joy of the earth — they dare not grieve 

for her pain — 
For they know of toil and the end of toil — they know God's Law 

is plain; 
So they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that sin 

is vain. 



And oftiimes cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade^ 
And tells them tales of the Seventh Day — of Edens newly made. 
And they rise to their feet as He passes by — gentlemen un* 
afraid. 



To these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust and 

Shame — 
Gods, for they knew the heart of Men — men, for they stooped 

to Fame — 
Some on the breath that men call Death, my brother's spirit 

came. 

Scarce had he need to cast his pride or slough the dross of earth. 
E'en as he trod that day to God, so walked he from this birth — 
In simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth. 

So, cup to lip in fellowship, they gave him welcome high 

And made him place at the banquet board, the Strong Men 

ranged thereby, 
Who had done his work and held his peace and had no fear to 



Beyond the loom of the last lone star through open darkness 

hurled, 
Further than rebel comet dared or hiving star-swarm swirled, 
Sits he with such as praise our God for that they served hi$ 

vmld. 



PREFACE 

The greater part of the "Barrack-Roam Bal- 
lads," as well as "Cleared" "Tomlinson" 
and "The English Flag" have appeared in the 
"National Observer" Messrs. Macmillan and 
Co. have kindly given me permission to reproduce 
four ballads contributed to their Magazine, 
and I am indebted to the "St. James Gazette" 
for a like courtesy in regard to the ballads of 
the " Clampherdown" and "Bolivar" and the 
1 ' Imperial Rescript. " " The Rhyme of the Three 
Captains" was printed first in the " Athenmum." 
I fancy that most of the other verses are new. 

RUDYARD KIPLING. 



BALLADS 



THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 

Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the 

twain shall meet, 
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great 

Judgment Seat; 
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, 

nor Birth, 
When two strong men stand face to face, thoi' they come 

from the ends of the earth 1 

K.amal is out with twenty men to raise the Border 

side, 
And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the 

Colonel's pride: 
He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the 

dawn and the day, 
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her 

far away. 



4 THE BALLAD OF 

Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop 

of the Guides: 
"Is there never a man of all my men can say where 

Kamal hides? " 
Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the 

Ressaldar, 
"If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know 

where his pickets are. 
"At dusk he harries the Abazai — at dawn he is into 

Bonair, 
"But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to 

fare, 
"So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can 

" By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win 

to the Tongue of Jagai, 
"But if he be passed the Tongue of Jagai, right 

swiftly turn ye then, 
"For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain 

is sown with Kamal's men. 
"There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and 

low lean thorn between, 
"And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a 



man is seen." 



EAST AND WEST 5 

The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough 

dun was he, 
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell, and 

the head of the gallows-tree. 
The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him 

stay to eat — 
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long 

at his meat. 
He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can 

fly, 

Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of 
the Tongue of Jagai, 

Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal 
upon her back, 

And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made 
the pistol crack. 

He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whist- 
ling ball went wide. 

"Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. "Show now 
if ye can ride." 

It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust- 
devils go, 

The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a 
barren doe. 



6 THE BALLAD OF 

The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his 

head above, 
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a 

maiden plays with a glove. 
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and 

low lean thorn between, 
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a 

man was seen. 
They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their 

hoofs drum up the dawn, 
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare 

like a new-roused fawn. 
The dun he fell at a water-course — in a woeful heap 

fell he, 
And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and 

pulled the rider free. 
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand — small 

room was there to strive, 
" Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he, "ye rode 

so long alive: 
"There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not 

a clump of tree, 
"But covered a man of my own men with his rifle 

cocked on his knee. 



EAST AND WEST 7 

"If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it 

low, 
"The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all 

in a row: 
"If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have 

held it high, 
"The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till 

she could not fly." 
Lightly answered the Colonel's son:— "Do good to 

bird and beast, 
"But count who come for the broken meats before 

thou makest a feast. 
"If there should follow a thousand swords to carry 

my bones away, 
"Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a 

thief could pay. 
"They will feed their horse on the standing crop, 

their men on the garnered grain, 
"The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when 

all the cattle are slain. 
" But if thou thinkest the price be fair,— thy brethren 

wait to sup, 
"The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn,— howl, dog, 

and call them up! 



8 THE BALLAD OF 

"And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and 

gear and stack, 
" Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my 

own way back!" 
Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon 

his feet. 
"No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when wolf and 

grey wolf meet. 
"May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or 

breath; 
"What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at 

the dawn with Death? " 
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "I hold by the 

blood of my clan: 
"Take up the mare for my father's gift — by God, 

she has carried a man! " 
The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled 

against his breast, 
"We be two strong men," said Kamal then, "but she 

loveth the younger best. 
"So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise- 
studded rein, 
"My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver 

stirrups twain." 



EAST AND WEST 9 

The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle- 
end, 
"Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he; "will 

ye take the mate from a friend? " 
"A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for 

the risk of a limb. 
"Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son 

to him!" 
With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from 

a mountain-crest — 
He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked 

like a lance in rest. 
"Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a 

troop of the Guides, 
"And thou must ride at his left side as shield on 

shoulder rides. 
"Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board 

and bed, 
"Thy life is his — thy fate it is to guard him with thy 

head. 
"So thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all 

her foes are thine, 
" And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace 

of the Border-line, 



io THE BALLAD OF 

"And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy 

way to power — 
" Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am 

hanged in Peshawur." 



They have looked each other between the eyes, and 

there they found no fault, 
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on 

leavened bread and salt: 
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on 

fire and fresh-cut sod, 
On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the 

Wondrous Names of God. 
The Coloners son he rides the mare and KamaFs boy 

the dun, 
And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where 

there went forth but one. 
And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full 

twenty swords flew clear — 
There was not a man but carried his feud with the 

blood of the mountaineer. 
"Ha' done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son. 

"Put up the steel at your sides* 



EAST AND WEST n 

"Last night ye had struck at a Border thief — to-night 
'tis a man of the Guides! " 



Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the two 

shall meet, 
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great 

Judgment Seat; 
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, 

nor Birth, 
When two strong men stand face to face, tho y they come 

from the ends of the earth. 



THE LAST SUTTEE 

Not many years ago a King died in one of the Rajpoot States. 
His wives, disregarding the orders of the English against suttee, 
would have broken out of the palace had not the gates been barred. 
But one of them, disguised as the King's favourite dancing-girl, 
passed through the line of guards and reached the pyre. There, 
her courage failing, she prayed Iter cousin, a baron of the court, 
to kill her. This he did, not knowing who she was. 

Udai Chand lay sick to death 

In his hold by Gungra hill. 
All night we heard the death-gongs ring 
For the soul of the dying Rajpoot King, 
All night beat up from the women's wing 

A cry that we could not still. 

All night the barons came and went, 

The lords of the outer guard: 
All night the cressets glimmered pale 
On Ulwar sabre and Tonk jezail, 
Mewar headstall and Marwar mail, 

That clinked in the palace yard. 

13 



THE LAST SUTTEE i S 

In the Golden room on the palace roof 

All night he fought for air: 
And there was sobbing behind the screen, 
Rustle and whisper of women unseen, 
And the hungry eyes of the Boondi Queen 

On the death she might not share. 

He passed at dawn — the death-fire leaped 

From ridge to river-head, 
From the Malwa plains to the Abu scaurs 
And wail upon wail went up to the stars 
Behind the grim zenana-bars, 

When they knew that the King was dead. 

The dumb priest knelt to tie his mouth 

And robe him for the pyre. 
The Boondi Queen beneath us cried: 
" See, now, that we die as our mothers died 
"In the bridal-bed by our master's side! 

"Out, women! — to the fire!" 

We drove the great gates home apace: 
White hands were on the sill: 



i 4 THE LAST SUTTEE 

But ere the rush of the unseen feet 
Had reached the turn to the open street, 
The bars shot down, the guard-drum beat — 
We held the dove-cot still. 

A face looked down in the gathering day, 
And laughing spoke from the wall: 

"Ohe, they mourn here: let me by — 

" Azizun, the Lucknow nautch-girl, I? 

"When the house is rotten, the rats must fly, 
"And I seek another thrall. 

" For I ruled the King as ne'er did Queen,— 

"To-night the Queens rule me! 
" Guard them safely, but let me go, 
"Or ever they pay the debt they owe 
1 ' In scourge and torture ! " She leaped below, 
And the grim guard watched her flee. 

They knew that the King had spent his soul 

On a North-bred dancing girl: 
That he prayed to a flat-nosed Lucknow god, 
And kissed the ground where her feet had trod, 
Vnd doomed to death at her drunken nod 

And swore by her lightest curl. 



THE LAST SUTTEE 1$ 

We bore the King to his fathers' place, 

Where the tombs of the Sun-born stand: 

Where the grey apes swing, and the peacocks preen 

On fretted pillar and jewelled screen, 

And the wild boar couch in the house of the Queen 
On the drift of the desert sand. 

The herald read his titles forth, 

We set the logs aglow: 
" Friend of the English, free from fear, 
"Baron of Luni to Jeysulmeer, 
"Lord of the Desert of Bikaneer, 

" King of the Jungle, — go ! " 

All night the red flame stabbed the sky 

With wavering wind- tossed spears: 
And out of a shattered temple crept 
A woman who veiled her head and wept, 
And called on the King — but the great King slept 
And turned not for her tears. 

Small thought had he to mark the strife — 
Cold fear with hot desire — 



16 THE LAST SUTTEE 

When thrice she leaped from the leaping flame, 
And thrice she beat her breast for shame, 
And thrice like a wounded dove she came 
And moaned about the fire. 

One watched, a bow-shot from the blaze, 

The silent streets between, 
Who had stood by the King in sport and fray, 
To blade in ambush or boar at bay, 
And he was a baron old and grey, 

And kin to the Boondi Queen. 

He said: "O shameless, put aside 

"The veil upon thy brow! 
"Who held the King and all his land 
"To the wanton will of a harlot's hand! 
"Will the white ash rise from the blistered brand? 

"Stoop down, and call him now!" 

Then she: "By the faith of my tarnished soul, 

"All things I did not well 
"I had hoped to clear ere the fire died, 
"And lay me down by my master's side 
"To rule in Heaven his only bride, 

"While the others howl in Hell. 



THE LAST SUTTEE 17 

"But I have felt the fire's breath, 

"And hard it is to die! 
" Yet if I may pray a Rajpoot lord 
"To sully the steel of a Thakur's sword 
"With base-born blood of a trade abhorred/' — 

And the Thakur answered, "Ay." 

He drew and struck: the straight blade drank 

The life beneath the breast. 
" I had looked for the Queen to face the flame, 
"But the harlot dies for the Rajpoot dame — 
" Sister of mine, pass, free from shame. 

"Pass with thy King to rest ! " 

The black log crashed above the white; 

The little flames and lean, 
Red as slaughter and blue as steel, 
That whistled and fluttered from head to heel, 
Leaped up anew, for they found their meal 

On the heart of — the Boondi Queen! 



THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY 

Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the 

story told. 
His mercy fills the Khyber hills — his grace is 

manifold; 
He has taken toll of the North and the South — his 

glory reachethfar, 
And they tell the tale of his charity from Balkh to 

Kandahar. 

Before the old Peshawur Gate, where Kurd and 

Kaffir meet, 
The Governor of Kabul dealt the Justice of the 

Street, 
And that was strait as running noose and swift as 

plunging knife, 
Tho' he who held the longer purse might hold the 

longer life. 

18 



THE KING'S MERCY 19 

There was a hound of Hindustan had struck a 

Euzufzai, 
Wherefore they spat upon his face and led him out to 

die. 
It chanced the King went forth that hour when 

throat was bared to knife; 
The Kaffir grovelled under-hoof and clamoured for 

his life. 

Then said the King: "Have hope, O friend I Yea, 

Death disgraced is hard; 
"Much honour shall be thine"; and called the Cap- 
tain of the Guard, 
Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-babble 

saith, 
And he was honoured of the King — the which is salt 

to Death; 
And he was son of Daoud Shah the Reiver of the 

Plains, 
And blood of old Durani Lords ran fire in his veins; 
And 'twas to tame an Afghan pride nor Hell nor 

Heaven could bind, 
The King would make him butcher to a yelping cur 

of Hind. 



20 THE BALLAD OF 

" Strike ! "said the King. " King's blood art thou— 

his death shall be his pride! " 
Then louder, that the crowd might catch: "Fear not 

— his arms are tied! " 
Yar Khan drew clear the Khyber knife, and struck, 

and sheathed again. 
"O man, thy will is done," quoth he; "A King this 

dog hath slain." 

Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, to the North 

and the South is sold. 
The North and the South shall open their mouth to 

a Ghilzaiflag unrolled, 
[When the big guns speak to the Khyber peak, and 

his dog-Heratisfiy, 
Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long ? 

Wolves of the Abazai I 

The night before the watch was set, when all the 

streets were clear, 
The Governor of Kabul spoke: "My King, hast thou 

no fear? 
"Thou knowest — thou hast heard," — his speech died 

at his master's face. 



THE KING'S MERCY 21 

And grimly said the Afghan King: "I rule the 

Afghan race. 
"My path is mine— see thou to thine— to-night 

upon thy bed 
"Think who there be in Kabul now that clamour for 
thy head." 



That night when all the gates were shut to City and 

to Throne, 
Within a little garden-house the King lay down 

alone. 
Before the sinking of the moon, which is the Night of 

Night, 

Yar Khan came softly to the King to make his hon- 
our white. 

The children of the town had mocked beneath his 
horse's hoofs, 

The harlots of the town had hailed him "butcher!" 
from their roofs. 

But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon 
him fell, 

The King behind his shoulder spoke: "Dead man, 
thou dost not well! 



22 THE BALLAD OF 

"'Tis ill to jest with Kings by day and seek a boon 

by night; 
"And that thou bearest in thy hand is all too sharp 

to write. 
"But three days hence, if God be good ; and if thy 

strength remain, 
"Thou shalt demand one boon of me and bless me in 

thy pain. 
"For I am merciful to all, and most of all to thee. 
"My butcher of the shambles, rest — no knife hast 

thou for me!" 

Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, holds hard by 

the South and the North; 
But the Ghilzai knows, ere the melting snows, 

when the swollen banks break forth, 
When the red-coats crawl to the sungar wall, and 

his Usb eg lances fail. 
Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long ? 

Wolves of the Zuka Kheyl I 

They stoned him in the rubbish-field when dawn was 

in the sky, 
According to the written word, "See that he do not 

die." 



THE KING'S MERCY 23 

They stoned him till the stones were piled above him 

on the plain, 
And those the labouring limbs displaced they tumbled 

back again. 

One watched beside the dreary mound that veiled the 

battered thing, 
And him the King with laughter called the Herald of 

the King. 

It was upon the second night, the night of Ramazan, 
The watcher leaning earthward heard the message of 

Yar Khan. 
From shattered breast through shrivelled lips broke 

forth the rattling breath: 
" Creature of God, deliver me from agony of Death." 

They sought the King among his girls, and risked 

their lives thereby: 
"Protector of the Pitiful, give orders that he die! " 

"Bid him endure until the day," a lagging answer 

came; 
"The night is short, and he can pray and learn to 

bless my name." 



24 THE KING'S MERCY 

Before the dawn three times he spoke, and on the 

day once more: 
"Creature of God, deliver me and bless the King 

therefore!" 

They shot him at the morning prayer, to ease him of 

his pain, 
And when he heard the matchlocks clink, he blessed 

the King again. 
Which thing the singers made a song for all the 

world to sing, 
So that the Outer Seas may know the mercy of the 

King. 

Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the 

story told. 
He has opened his mouth to the North and the 

South, they have stuffed his mouth with gold. 
Ye know the truth of his tender ruth — and sweet 

his favours are. 
Ye have heard the song — How long ? How long 1 

from Balkh to Kandahar, 



THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST 

When springtime flushes the desert grass, 

Our kafilas wind through the Khyber Pass, 

Lean are the camels but fat the frails, 

Light are the purses but heavy the bales, 

As the snowbound trade of the North comes down 

To the market-square of Peshawur town. 

In a turquoise twilight, crisp and chill, 
A kafila camped at the foot of the hill. 
Then blue smoke-haze of the cooking rose, 
And tentpeg answered to hammer-nose; 
And the picketed ponies, shag and wild, 
Strained at their ropes as the feed was piled; 
And the bubbling camels beside the load 
Sprawled for a furlong adown the road; 
And the Persian pu&y-cats, brought for sale, 
Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale; 
And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food; 

35 



*6 THE BALLAD OF 

And the camp-fires twinkled by Fort Jumrood; 
And there fled on the wings of the gathering dusk 
A savour of camels and carpets and musk, 
A murmur of voices, a reek of smoke, 
To tell us the trade of the Khyber woke. 

The lid of the flesh-pot chattered high, 

The knives were whetted and — then came I 

To Mahbub Ali, the muleteer, 

Patching his bridles and counting his gear, 

Crammed with the gossip of half a year. 

But Mahbub Ali the kindly said, 

" Better is speech when the belly is fed." 

So we plunged the hand to the mid- wrist deep 

In a cinnamon stew of the fat- tailed sheep, 

And he who never hath tasted the food, 

By Allah! he knoweth not bad from good. 

We cleansed our beards of the mutton-grease, 
We lay on the mats and were filled with peace, 
And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south, 
With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth. 
Four things greater than all things are, — 
Women and Horses and Power and War. 
We spake of them all, but the last the most., 



THE KING'S JEST 27 

For I sought a word of a Russian post. 

Of a shifty promise, an unsheathed sword 

And a grey-coat guard on the Helmund ford. 

Then Mahbub Ali lowered his eyes 

In the fashion of one who is weaving lies. 

Quoth he: "Of the Russians who can say? 

"When the night is gathering all is grey. 

"But we look that the gloom of the night shall die 

"In the morning flush of a blood-red sky. 

"Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise 

"To warn a King of his enemies? 

"We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, 

" But no man knoweth the mind of the King. 

"That unsought counsel is cursed of God 

" Attesteth the story of Wali Dad. 

" His sire was leaky of tongue and pen, 

"His dam was a clucking Khuttuck hen; 

"And the colt bred close to the vice of each, 

"For he carried the curse of an unstaunched speech. 

"Therewith madness—so that he sought 

"The favour of kings at the Kabul court; 

" And travelled, in hope of honour, far 

"To the line where the grey-coat squadrons are. 



28 THE BALLAD OF 

'There have I journeyed too — but I 

'Saw naught, said naught, and — did not die! 

'He hearked to rumour, and snatched at a breath 

'Of 'this one knoweth' and 'that one saith ■ — 

'Legends that ran from mouth to mouth 

'Of a grey-coat coming, and sack of the South. 

'These have I also heard — they pass 

' With each new spring and the winter grass. 

'Hot-foot southward, forgotten of God, 

'Back to the city ran Wali Dad, 

'Even to Kabul — in full durbar 

'The King held talk with his Chief in War. 

' Into the press of the crowd he broke, 

'And what he had heard of the coming spoke. 

'Then Gholam Hyder, the Red Chief, smiled, 

'As a mother might on a babbling child; 

' But those who would laugh restrained their breath, 

'When the face of the King showed dark as death, 

' Evil it is in full durbar 

'To cry to a ruler of gathering war! 

' Slowly he led to a peach-tree small, 

'That grew by a cleft of the city wall. 



THE KING'S JEST 29 

" And he said to the boy: 'They shall praise thy zeal 

'"So long as the red spurt follows the steel. 

" And the Russ is upon us even now? 

" l Great is thy prudence — await them, thou. 

* ' l Watch from the tree. Thou art young and strong, 

" l Surely thy vigil is not for long. 

'"The Russ is upon us, thy clamour ran? 

" ' Surely an hour shall bring their van. 

" ' Wait and watch. When the host is near, 

" ' Shout aloud that my men may hear.' 



" Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise 

"To warn a King of his enemies? 

"A guard was set that he might not flee — 

"A score of bayonets ringed the tree. 

"The peach-bloom fell in showers of snow, 

"When he shook at his death as he looked below. 

"By the power of God, who alone is great, 

" Till the seventh day he fought with his fate. 

"Then madness took him, and men declare 

" He mowed in the branches as ape and bear, 

"And last as a sloth, ere his body failed, 

" And he hung as a bat in the forks, and wailed, 



3 o THE KING'S JEST 

" And sleep the cord of his hands untied, 

"And he fell, and was caught on the points and died. 

" Heart of my heart, is it meet or wise 
" To warn a King of his enemies? 
" We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, 
"But no man knoweth the mind of the King. 
"Of the grey-coat coming who can say? 
"When the night is gathering all is grey. 
"Two things greater than all things are, 
"The first is Love, and the second War. 
"And since we know not how War may prove, 
"Heart of my heart, let us talk of Love!" 



WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 

More than a hundred years ago, in a great battle 
fought near Delhi, an Indian Prince rode fifty miles 
after the day was lost with a beggar- girl, who had loved 
him and followed him in all his camps, on his saddle 
bow. He lost the girl when almost within sight of safety. 
A Maratta trooper tells the story: — 

The wreath of banquet overnight lay withered on 
the neck, 
Our hands and scarves were safTron-dyed for signal 
of despair, 
When we went forth to Paniput to battle with the 
Mlech, — 
Ere we came back from Paniput and left a king- 
dom there. 

Thrice thirty-thousand men were we to force the 
Jumna fords — 
The hawk-winged horse of Damajee, mailed 
squadrons of the Bhao, 

31 



33 WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 

Stark levies of the southern hills, the Deccan's 
sharpest swords, 
And he the harlot's traitor son the goatherd Mul- 
harRao! 



Thrice thirty-thousand men were we before the mists 
had cleared, 
The low white mists of morning heard the war- 
conch scream and bray; 
We called upon Bhowani and we gripped them by the 
beard, 
We rolled them like a flood and washed their 
ranks away. 



The children of the hills of Khost before our lances 
ran, 
We drove the black Rohillas back as cattle to the 
pen; 
'Twas then we needed Mulhar Rao to end what we 

began, 
A thousand men had saved the charge; he fled the 
field with ten! 



WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 33 

There was no room to clear a sword — no power to 
strike a blow, 
For foot to foot, ay, breast to breast, the battle 
held us fast- 
Save where the naked hill men ran and stabbing 
from below 
Brought down the horse and rider and we trampled 
them and passed. 

To left the war of musketry rang like a falling 
flood- 
To right the sunshine rippled red from redder 
lance and blade — 
Above the dark Upsaras flew, beneath us plashed 
the blood, 
And, bellying black against the dust, the Bhagwa 
Jhanda swayed. 

I saw it fall in smoke and fire, the banner of the 
Bhao; 
I heard a voice across the press of one who called 
in vain: — 

1 The Choosers of the Slain. 



34 WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 

"Ho! Anand Rao Nimbalkhur ride! Get aid of 
MulharRao! 
" Go shame his squadrons into fight — the Bhao-— 
the Bhao is slain!" 



Thereat, as when a sand-bar breaks in clotted spume 
and spray — 
When rain of later autumn sweeps the Jumna 
water-head, 
Before their charge from flank to flank our riven 
ranks gave way; 
But of the waters of that flood the Jumna fords ran 
red. 



I held by Scindia, my lord, as close as man might 
hold; 
A Soobah of the Deccan asks no aid to guard his 
life; 
But Holkar's Horse were flying, and our chief est 
chiefs were cold, 
And like a flame among us leapt the long lean 
Northern knife. 



WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 35 

I held by Scindia— my lance from butt to tuft was 
dyed, 
The froth of battle bossed the shield and roped the 
bridle-chain — 
What time beneath our horses' feet a maiden rose 
and cried, 
And clung to Scindia, and I turned a sword-cut 
from the twain. 



(He set a spell upon the maid in woodlands long 

ago, 
A hunter by the Tapti banks she gave him water 

there: 
He turned her heart to water, and she followed to her 

woe. 
What need had he of Lalun who had twenty maids 

as fair?) 



Now in that hour strength left my lord; he wrenched 
his mare aside; 
He bound the girl behind him and we slashed and 
struggled free. 



3 6 WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 

Across the reeling wreck of strife we rode as shadows 
ride 
From Paniput to Delhi town, but not alone were 
we. 



'Twas Lutuf-Ullah Populzai laid horse upon our 
track, 
A swine-fed reiver of the North that lusted for the 
maid; 
I might have barred his path awhile, but Scindia 
called me back, 
And I — Oh woe for Scindia!— I listened and 
obeyed. 



League after league the formless scrub took shape 
and glided by — 
League after league the white road swirled behind 
the white mare's feet — 
League after league, when leagues were done, we 
heard the Populzai, 
When sure as Time and swift, as Death the tireless 
footfall beat. 



WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 37 

Noon's eye beheld that shame of flight, the shadows 
fell, we fled 
Where steadfast as the wheeling kite he followed 
in our train; 
The black wolf warred where we had warred, the 
jackal mocked our dead, 
And terror born of twilight tide made mad the 
labouring brain. 



* gasped:— " A kingdom waits my lord; her love is 
but her own. 
"A day shall mar, a day shall cure for her, but 
what for thee? 
*Xut loose the girl: he follows fast. Cut loose and 

ride alone!" 
Then Scindia 'twixt his blistered lips: — "My 
Queen's Queen shall she be! 



"Of all who eat my bread last night 'twas she alone 
that came 
"To seek her love between the spears and find her 
frown therein! 



38 WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 

"One shame is mine to-day, what need the weight of 
double shame? 
"If once we reach the Delhi gate, though all be 
lost, I win!" 



We rode — the white mare failed — her trot a stagger- 
ing stumble grew, — 
The cooking-smoke of even rose and weltered 
and hung low; 
And still we heard the Populzai and still we strained 
anew, 
And Delhi town was very near, but nearer was the 
foe. 



Yea, Delhi town was very near when Lalun whis- 
pered: — "Slay! 
"Lord of my life, the mare sinks fast — stab deep 
and let me die!" 
But Scindia would not, and the maid tore free and 
flung away, 
And turning as she fell we heard the clattering 
Populzai. 



WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI 39 

Then Scindia checked the gasping mare that rocked 
and groaned for breath, 
And wheeled to charge and plunged the knife a 
hands-breadth in her side — 
The hunter and the hunted know how that last pause 
is death — 
The blood had chilled about her heart, she reared 
and fell and died. 

Our Gods were kind. Before he heard the maiden's 
piteous scream 
A log upon the Delhi road, beneath the mare he 
lay — 
Lost mistress and lost battle passed before him like 
a dream; 
The darkness closed about his eyes — I bore my 
King away. 



THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE 

This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone, 
Erst a Pretender to Theebaw's throne, 
Who harried the district of Alalone: 
How he met with his fate and the V. P. P. 
At the hand of Harendra Mukerji, 
Senior Gomashta, G. B. T\ 

Boh Da Thone was a warrior bold, 

His sword and his Snider were bossed with gold, 

And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore 
Was stiff with bullion but stiffer with gore. 

He shot at the strong and he slashed at the weak 
From the Salween scrub to the Chindwin teak: 

He crucified noble, he sacrificed mean, 
He filled old women with kerosene: 

While over the water the papers cried, 
"The patriot fights for his countryside!" 

40 



BOH DA THONE 41 

But little they cared for the Native Press, 
The worn white soldiers in Khaki dress, 

Who tramped through the jungle and camped in the 

byre, 
Who died in the swamp and were tombed in the mire, 

Who gave up their lives, at the Queen's Command 
For the Pride of their Race and the Peace of the 
Land. 

Now, first of the foemen of Boh Da Thone 
Was Captain O'Neil of the "Black Tyrone," 

And his was a Company, seventy strong, 
Who hustled that dissolute Chief along. 

There were lads from Galway and Louth and Meath 
Who went to their death with a joke in their teeth, 

And worshipped with fluency, fervour, and zeal 
The mud on the boot-heels of " Crook " O'Neil. 

But ever a blight on their labours lay, 
And ever their quarry would vanish away, 



42 THE BALLAD OF 

Till the sun-dried boys of the Black Tyrone 
Took a brotherly interest in Boh Da Thone: 

And, sooth, if pursuit in possession ends, 
The Boh and his trackers were best of friends. 

The word of a scout — a march by night — 
A rush through the mist — a scattering fight — 

A volley from cover — a corpse in the clearing— 
The glimpse of a loin-cloth and heavy jade earring — 

The flare of a village — the tally of slain — 
And . . . the Boh was abroad "on the raid" 
again ! 

They cursed their luck as the Irish will, 
They gave him credit for cunning and skill, 

They buried their dead, they bolted their beef, 
And started anew on the track of the thief 

Till, in place of the "Kalends of Greece," men said, 
"When Crook and his darlings come back with the 
head." 

They had hunted the Boh from the Hills to the 

plain — 
He doubled and broke for the hills again: 



BOH DA THONE 43 

They had crippled his power for rapine and raid, 
They had routed him out of his pet stockade, 

And at last, they came, when the Day Star tired, 
To a camp deserted — a village fired. 

A black cross blistered the Morning-gold, 
And the body upon it was stark and cold. 

The wind of the dawn went merrily past, 
The high grass bowed her plumes to the blast. 

And out of the grass, on a sudden, broke 
A spirtle of fire, a whorl of smoke — 

And Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone 
Was blessed with a slug in the ulna-bone — 
The gift of his enemy Boh Da Thone. 

(Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph-wire 
Is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire.) 

The shot- wound festered — as shot- wounds may 
In a steaming barrack at Mandalay. 

The left arm throbbed, and the Captain swore, 
" I'd Jike to be after the Boh once more ! " 



44 THE BALLAD OF 

The fever held him — the Captain said, 
" I'd give a hundred to look at his head! " 

The Hospital punkas creaked and whirred, 
But Babu Harendra (Gomashta) heard. 

He thought of the cane-brake, green and dank, 
That girdled his home by the Dacca tank. 

He thought of his wife and his High School son, 
He thought — but abandoned the thought — of a gun 

His sleep was broken by visions dread 
Of a shining Boh with a silver head. 

He kept his counsel and went his way, 
And swindled the cartmen of half their pay. 

And the months went on, as the worst must do, 
And the Boh returned to the raid anew. 

But the Captain had quitted the long-drawn strife, 
And in far Simoorie had taken a wife. 

And she was a damsel of delicate mould, 
With hair like the sunshine and heart of gold, 



BOH DA THONE 45 

And little she knew the arms that embraced 
Had cloven a man from the brow to the waist: 

And little she knew that the loving lips 
Had ordered a quivering life's eclipse, 

And the eye that lit at her lightest breath 
Had glared unawed in the Gates of Death. 

(For these be matters a man would hide, 
As a general rule, from an innocent Bride.) 

And little the Captain thought of the past, 
And, of all men, Babu Harendra last. 
• **•••• 

But slow, in the sludge of the Kathun road, 
The Government Bullock Train toted its load. 

Speckless and spotless and shining with ghee, 
In the rearmost cart sat the Babu-jee. 

And ever a phantom before him fled 
Of a scowling Boh with a silver head. 

Then the lead-cart stuck, though the coolies slav© j, 
And the cartmen flogged and the escort raved; 



46 THE BALLAD OF 

And out of the jungle, with yells and squeals, 
Pranced Boh Da Thone, and his gang at his heels ! 

Then belching blunderbuss answered back 
The Snider's snarl and the carbine's crack, 

And the blithe revolver began to sing 

To the blade that twanged on the locking-ring, 

And the brown flesh blued where the bay'net kissed, 
As the steel shot back with a wrench and a twist, 

And the great white bullocks with onyx eyes 
Watched the souls of the dead arise, 

And over the smoke of the fusillade 

The Peacock Banner staggered and swayed. 

Oh, gayest of scrimmages man may see 
Is a well- worked rush on the G. B. T. ! 

The Babu shook at the horrible sight, 
And girded his ponderous loins for flight, 

But Fate had ordained that the Boh should start 
On a lone-hand raid of the rearmost cart, 



BOH DA THONE 47 

And out of that cart, with a bellow of woe, 
The Babu fell— flat on the top of the Boh! 

For years had Harendra served the State, 

To the growth of his purse and the girth of his pU — 

They were twenty stone, as the tally-man knows, 
On the broad of the chest of this best of Bohs. 

And twenty stone from a height discharged 
Are bad for a Boh with a spleen enlarged. 

Oh, short was the struggle — severe was the shock — 
He dropped like a bullock — he lay like a block; 

And the Babu above him, convulsed with fear, 
Heard the labouring life-breath hissed out in his ear. 

And thus in a fashion undignified 
The princely pest of the Chindwin died. 



Turn now to Simoorie where, lapped in his ease, 
The Captain is petting the Bride on his knees, 



48 THE BALLAD OF 

Where the whit of the bullet, the wounded man's 

scream, 
Are mixed as the mist of some devilish dream — 

Forgotten, forgotten the sweat of the shambles 
Where the hill-daisy blooms and the grey monkey 
gambols, 

From the sword-belt set free and released from the 

steel, 
The Peace of the Lord is with Captain O'Neil. 

Up the hill to Simoorie — most patient of drudges — 
The bags on his shoulder, the mail-runner trudges. 

"For Captain O'Neil, Sahib. One himdred and ten 

Rupees to collect on delivery." 

Then 

(Their breakfast was stopped while the screw-jack 

and hammer 
Tore wax-cloth, split teak-wood, and chipped out 

the dammer;) 

Open-eyed, open-mouthed, on the napery's snow, 
With a crash and a thud, rolled — the Head of the 
Boh! 



BOH DA THONE 49 

And gummed to the scalp was a letter which ran: — 
"In Fielding Force Service. 
" Encampment, 

" ioth Jan. 

"Dear Sir,— I have honour to send, as you said, 
" For final approval (see under) Boh's Head; 

"Was took by myself in most bloody affair. 
" By High Education brought pressure to bear. 

"Now violate Liberty, time being bad, 

"To mail V. P. P. (rupees hundred) Please add 

"Whatever Your Honour can pass. Price of Blood 
"Much cheap at one hundred, and children want 
food. 

"So trusting Your Honour will somewhat retain 
"True love and affection for Govt. Bullock Train, 

"And show awful kindness to satisfy me, 
"I am, 
" Graceful Master, 
"Your 

"H. Mukerji." 



5o THE BALLAD OF 

As the rabbit is drawn to the rattlesnake's power, 
As the smoker's eye fills at the opium hour, 

As a horse reaches up to the manger above, 

As the waiting ear yearns for the whisper of love, 

From the arms of the Bride, iron-visaged and slow, 
The Captain bent down to the Head of the Boh. 

And e'en as he looked on the Thing where It lay 
'Twixt the winking new spoons and the napkins' 
array. 

The freed mind fled back to the long-ago days — 
The hand-to-hand scuffle — the smoke and the blaze— 

The forced march at night and the quick rush at 

dawn — 
The banjo at twilight, the burial ere morn — 

The stench of the marshes — the raw, piercing smell 
When the overhand stabbing-cut silenced the yell — 

The oaths of his Irish that surged when they stood 
Where the black crosses hung o'er the Kuttamow 
flood. 



EOH DA THONE 51 

\s a derelict ship drifts away with the tide 

The Captain went out on the Past from his Bride, 

Back, back, through the springs to the chill of the 

year, 
When he hunted the Boh from Maloon to Tsaleer. 

As the shape of a corpse dimmers up through deep 

water, 
In his eye lit the passionless passion of slaughter, 

And men who had fought with O'Neil for the life 
Had gazed on his face with less dread than his wife. 

For she who had held him so long could not hold 
him — 

Though a four-month Eternity should have con- 
trolled him — 

But watched the twin Terror— the head turned to 

head — 
The scowling, scarred Black, and the flushed savage 

Red— 

The spirit that changed from her knowing and flew 

to 
Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue to, 



52 BOH DA THONE 

But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it unfear- 
ing, 

And muttered aloud, "So you kept that jade ear- 
ring!" 

Then nodded, and kindly, as friend nods to friend, 
''Old man, you fought well, but you lost in the end." 

The visions departed, and Shame followed Passion, 
"He took what I said in this horrible fashion, 

" I'll write to Harendra ! ' ' With language unsainted 
The Captain came back to the Bride who had 
fainted. 

And this is a fiction? No. Go to Simoorie 

And look at their baby, a twelve-month old Houri, 

A pert little, Irish-eyed Kathleen Mavournin — 
She's always about on the Mall of a mornin' — 

And you'll see, if her right shoulder-strap is dis- 
placed, 
This: Gules upon argent, a Boh's Head, erased! 



THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE 

THIEF 

O woe is me for the merry life 

I led beyond the Bar, 
And a treble woe for my winsome wife 

That weeps at Shalimar. 

They have taken away my long jezail, 

My shield and sabre fine, 
And heaved me into the Central Jail 

For lifting of the kine. 

The steer may low within the byre, 

The Jut may tend his grain, 
But there'll be neither loot nor fire 

Till I come back again. 

And God have mercy on the Jut 

When once my fetters fall, 
And Heaven defend the farmer's hut 

When I am loosed from thrall. 

53 



54 THE LAMENT OF THE 

It's woe to bend the stubborn back 
Above the grinching quern, 

It's woe to hear the leg-bar clack 
And jingle when I turn! 

But for the sorrow and the shame, 
The brand on me and mine, 

I'll pay you back in leaping flame 
And loss of the butchered kine. 

For every cow I spared before 

In charity set free, 
If I may reach my hold once more' 

I'll reive an honest three! 

For every time I raised the low 
That scared the dusty plain, 

By sword and cord, by torch and tow 
I'll light the land with twain! 

Ride hard, ride hard to Abazai, 

Young sahib with the yellow hair — 

Lie close, lie close as khuttucks He, 
Fat herds below Bonair! 



BORDER CATTLE THIEF 55 

The one I'll shoot at twilight tide, 

At dawn I'll drive the other; 
The black shall mourn for hoof and hide, 

The white man for his brother! 

'Tis war, red war, I'll give you then, 

War till my sinews fail, 
For the wrong you have done to a chief of men 

And a thief of the Zukka Kheyl. 

And if I fall to your hand afresh 

I give you leave for the sin, 
That you cram my throat with the foul pig's flesh 

And swing me in the skin! 



THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS 

This ballad appears to refer to one of the exploits of the noto-* 
rious Paid Jones, the American Pirate. It is founded on fact. 

. . . At the close of a winter day, 
Their anchors down, by London town the Threv 

Great Captains lay. 
And one was Admiral of the North from Solwa> 

Firth to Skye, 
And one was Lord of the Wessex coast and all tht 

lands thereby, 
And one was Master of the Thames from Limehouse 

to Blackwall. 
And he was Captain of the Fleet — the bravest of 

them all. 
Their good guns guarded their great grey sides thai 

were thirty foot in the sheer, 
When there came a certain trading-brig with newi _ * 

a privateer. 

*6 



THE THREE CAPTAINS 57 

Her rigging was rough with the clotted drift that 

drives in a Northern breeze, 
Her sides were clogged with the lazy weed that 

spawns in the Eastern seas. 
Light she rode in the rude tide-rip, to left and right 

she rolled, 
And the skipper sat on the scuttle-butt and stared at 

an empty hold. 
'•' I ha' paid Port dues for your Law," quoth he, " and 

where is the Lawyer boast 
*'If I sail unscathed from a heathen port to be robbed 

on a Christian coast? 
'Ye have smoked the hives of the Laccadives as we 

burn the lice in a bunk; 
" We tack not now to a Gallang prow or a plunging 

Pei-ho junk; 
"I had no fear but the seas were clear as far as a sail 

might fare 
"Till I met with a lime- washed Yankee brig that 

rode off Finisterre. 
"There were canvas blinds to his bow-gun ports to 

screen the weight he bore 
"And the signals ran for a merchantman from Sandy 

Hook to the Nore. 



58 THE RHYME OF 

"He would not fly the Rovers' flag — the bloody or 

the black, 
"But now he floated the Gridiron and now he 

flaunted the Jack. 
"He spoke of the Law as he crimped my crew — he 

swore it was only a loan; 
"But when I would ask for my own again, he swore 

it was none of my own. 
"He has taken my little parrakeets that nest beneath 

the Line, 
"He has stripped my rails of the shaddock-frails and 

the green unripened pine; 
"He has taken my bale of dammer and spice I wo 

beyond the seas, 
" He has taken my grinning heathen gods — and what 

should he want o' these? 
"My foremast would not mend his boom, my deck- 
house patch his boats; 
' l He has whittled the two this Yank Yahoo, to peddle 

for shoepeg-oats. 
"I could not fight for the failing light and a rough 

beam-sea beside, 
"But I hulled him once for a clumsy crimp and twice 

because he lied. 



THE THREE CAPTAINS 59 

"Had I had guns (as I had goods) to work my 

Christian harm, 
"I had run him up from his quarter-deck to trade 

with his own yard-arm; 
" I had nailed his ears to my capstan-head, and ripped 

them off with a saw, 
"And soused them in the bilgewater, and serve them 

to him raw; 
"I had flung him blind in a rudderless boat to rot in 

the rocking dark 
"I had towed him aft of his own craft, a bait for his 

brother shark; 
"I had lapped him round with cocoa husk, and 

drenched him with the oil, 
"And lashed him fast to his own mast to blaze 

above my spoil; 
"I had stripped his hide for my hammock-side, and 

tasseled his beard i' the mesh 
"And spitted his crew on the live bamboo that grows 

through the gangrened flesh; 
"I had hove him down by the mangroves brown, 

where the mud-reef sucks and draws, 
"Moored by the heel to his own keel to wait for the 

land-crab's claws! 



5o THE RHYME OF 

"He is lazar within and lime without, ye can nose 

him far enow, 
"For he carries the taint of a musky ship— the reek 

of the slaver's dhow!" 
The skipper looked at the tiering guns and the bul- 
warks tall and cold, 
And the Captains Three full courteously peered down 

at the gutted hole, 
And the Captains Three called courteously from 

deck to scuttle-butt: — 
" Good Sir, we ha' dealt with that merchantman or 

ever your teeth were cut. 
"Your words be words of a lawless race, and the Law 

it standeth thus: 
"He comes of a race that have never a Law, and he 

never has boarded us. 
"We ha' sold him canvas and rope and spar — we 

know that his price is fair, 
"And we know that he weeps for the lack of a Law 

as he rides off Finisterre. 
"And since he is damned for a gallows-thief by you 

and better than you, 
"We hold it meet that the English fleet should know 

that we hold him true." 



THE THREE CAPTAINS 61 

The skipper called to the tall taffrail: "And what is 

that to me? 
"Did ever you hear of a privateer that rifled a Sev- 
enty-three? 
"Do I loom so large from your quarter-deck that I 

lift like a ship o' the Line? 
"He has learned to run from a shotted gun and harry 

such craft as mine. 
"There is never a Law on the Cocos Keys to hold a 

white man in, 
"But we do not steal the niggers' meal, for that is a 

nigger's sin. 
" Must he have his Law as a quid to chaw, or laid in 

brass on his wheel? 
"Does he steal with tears when he buccaneers? Fore 

Gad, then, why does he steal? " 
The skipper bit on a deep-sea word, and the word it 

was not sweet, 
F< r he could see the Captains Three had signalled to 

the Fleet. 
But three and two, in white and blue, the whimpering 

flags began: 
"We have heard a tale of a foreign sail, but he is a 

merchantman." 



62 THE RHYME OF 

The skipper peered beneath his palm and swore by 

the Great Horn Spoon, 
"Fore Gad, the Chaplain of the Fleet would bless my 

picaroon!" 
By two and three the flags blew free to lash the 

laughing air, 
"We have sold our spars to the merchantman — we 

know that his price is fair." 
The skipper winked his Western eye, and swore by a 

China storm: — 
"They ha' rigged him a Joseph's jury-coat to keep 

his honour warm." 
The halliards twanged against the tops, the bunting 

bellied broad, 
The skipper spat in the empty hold and mourned for 

a wasted cord. 
Masthead — masthead, the signal sped by the line o* 

the British craft; 
The skipper called to his Lascar crew, and put her 

about and laughed: — 
"It's mainsail haul, my bully boys all — we'll out to 

the seas again;. 
"Ere they set us to paint their pirate saint, or scrub 

at his grapnel-chain 



THE THREE CAPTAINS 63 

"It's fore-sheet free, with her head to the sea, and 

the swing of the unbought brine — 
"We'll make no sport in an English court till we 

come as a ship o' the Line, 
"Till we come as a ship o' the Line, my lads, of 

thirty foot in the sheer, 
"Lifting again from the outer main with news of a 

privateer; 
"Flying his pluck at our mizzen- truck for weft of 
• Admiralty, 
"Heaving his head for our dipsy-lead in sign that we 

keep the sea. 
" Then fore-sheet home as she lifts to the foam — we 

stand on the outward tack 
" We are paid in the coin of the white man's trade— 

the bezant is hard, ay, and black. 
"The frigate-bird shall carry my word to the Kling 

and the Orang-Laut 
"How a man may sail from a heathen coast to be 

robbed in a Christian port; 
"How a man may be robbed in Christian port while 

Three Great Captains there 
"Shall dip their flag to a slaver's rag — to show that 

his trade is fair!" 



THE BALLAD OF THE " CLAMPHERDOWN " 

It was our war-ship "Clampherdown" 

Would sweep the Channel clean, 
Wherefore she kept her hatches close 
When the merry Channel chops arose, 

To save the bleached marine. 

She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton, 

And a great stern-gun beside; 
They dipped their noses deep in the sea, 
They racked their stays and staunchions free 

In the wash of the wind-whipped tide. 

It was our war-ship " Clampherdown," 

Fell in with a cruiser light 
That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun 
And a pair o' heels wherewith to run, 

From the grip of a close-fought fight. 
64 



THE "CLAMPHERDOWN" 6s 

She opened fire at seven miles — 

As ye shoot at a bobbing cork — 
And once she fired and twice she fired, 
Till the bow-gun dropped like a lily tired 

That lolls upon the stalk. 

"Captain, the bow-gun melts apace, 

"The deck-beams break below, 
" 'Twere well to rest for an hour or twain, 
"And botch the shattered plates again." 

And he answered, "Make it so." 

She opened fire within the mile — 

As ye shoot at the flying duck — 
And the great stern-gun shot fair and true. 
With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue 

And the great stern-turret struck. 

" Captain, the turret fills with steam, 

"The feed-pipes burst below — 
"You can hear the hiss of helpless ram, 
"You can hear the twisted runners jam." 

And he answered, " Turn and go ! " 



66 THE BALLAD OF 

It was our war-ship " Clampherdown," 

And grimly did she roll; 
Swung round to take the cruiser's fire 
As the White Whale faces the Thresher's ire, 

When they war by the frozen Pole. 

"Captain, the shells are falling fast, 

"And faster still fall we; 
"And it is not meet for English stock, 
" To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock, 

"The death they cannot see." 

"Lie down, he down my bold A. B., 

"We drift upon her beam; 
" We dare not ram for she can run; 
"And dare ye fire another gun, 

"And die in the peeling steam? " 

It was our war-ship " Clampherdown " 

That carried an armour-belt; 
But fifty feet at stern and bow, 
Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow, 

To the hail of the Nordenf eldt. 



THE "CLAMPHERDOWN" 67 

" Captain, they lack us through and through; 

"The chilled steel bolts are swift! 
"We have emptied the bunkers in open sea, 
"Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be." 

And he answered, "Let her drift." 

It was our war-ship "Clampherdown," 

Swung round upon the tide, 
Her two dumb guns glared south and north, 
And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth, 

And she ground the cruiser's side. 

"Captain, they cry, the fight is done, 
"They bid you send your sword." 
And he answered, " Grapple her stern and bow. 
"They have asked for the steel. They shall 

have it now; 
"Out cutlasses and board! " 

It was our war-ship " Clampherdown," 

Spewed up four hundred men; 
And the scalded stokers yelped delight, 
As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight, 

Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen. 



THE "CLAMPHERDOWN" 

They cleared the cruiser end to end, 

From conning- tower to hold. 
They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet; 
They were stripped to the waist, they were bare 
to the feet, 

As it was in the days of old. 

It was the sinking "Clampherdown" 

Heaved up her battered side — 
And carried a million pounds in steel, 
To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel 

And the scour of the Channel tide. 

It was the crew of the " Clampherdown" 

Stood out to sweep the sea, 
On a cruiser won from an ancient foe. 
As it was in the days of long-ago, 

And as it still shall be. 



THE BALLAD OF THE "BOLIVAR" 

Seven men from all the world, back to Docks again, 
Rolling down the Ratclijfe Road drunk and raising 

Cain: 
Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign away — 
We that took the "Bolivar" out across the Bay! 

We put out from Sunderland loaded down with rails; 

We put back to Sunderland 'cause our cargo 

shifted; 

We put out from Sunderland— met the winter gales — 

Seven days and seven nights to the Start we 

drifted. 



Racketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack white 

as snow, 
All the coals adrift a deck, half the rails below 
69 



7 o THE BALLAD OF 

Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a dray- 
Out we took the "Bolivar," out across the Bay! 

One by one the Lights came up, winked and let us 

by; 
Mile by mile we waddled on, coal and fo'c'sle 
short; 
Met a blow that laid us down, heard a bulkhead 

fly; 

Left The Wolf behind us with a two-foot list to 
port. 

Trailing like a wounded duck, working out hei 

soul; 
Clanging like a smithy-shop after every roll; 
Just a funnel and a mast lurching through the 

spray — 
So we threshed the "Bolivar" out across the 

Bay! 

Felt her hog and felt her sag, betted when she'd 
break; 
Wondered every time she raced if she'd stand the 
shock; 



THE " BOLIVAR" 71 

Heard the seas like drunken men pounding at her 
strake; 
Hoped the Lord 'ud keep his thumb on the 
plummer-block. 

Banged against the iron decks, bilges choked 
with coal; 

Flayed and frozen foot and hand, sick of heart 
and soul; 

'Last we prayed she'd buck herself into Judg- 
ment Day — 

Hi ! we cursed the "Bolivar " knocking round the 
Bay! 

Oh! her nose flung up to sky, groaning to be still — 
Up and down and back we went, never time for 
breath; 
Then the money paid at Lloyd's caught her by the 
heel, 
And the stars ran round and round dancin' at our 
death. 

Aching for an hour's sleep, dozing off between; 
Heard the rotten rivets draw when she took it 
green, 



?a THE BALLAD OF 

Watched the compass chase its tail like a cat at 

play- 
That was on the " Bolivar," south across the 

Bay. 

Once we saw between the squalls, lyin' head to 
swell — 
Mad with work and weariness, wishin' they was 
we — 
Some damned Liner's lights go by like a grand hotel; 
Cheered her from the "Bolivar," swampin' in the 
sea. 

Then a greyback cleared us out, then the 

skipper laughed; 
"Boys, the wheel has gone to Hell — rig the 

winches aft! 
"Yoke the kicking rudder-head — get her under 

way!" 

So we steered her, pulley-haul, out across the 
Bay! 

Just a pack o' rotten plates puttied up with tar, 
In we came, an' time enough 'cross Bilbao Bar. 



THE "BOLIVAR" 73 

Overloaded, undermanned, meant to founder, 

we 
Euchred God Almighty's storm, bluffed the 

Eternal Sea! 

Seven men from all the world, back to town again, 
Rollin' down the Ratclijfe Road drunk and raising 

Cain. 
Seven men from out of Hell. Ain't the owners gay, 
'Cause we took the "Bolivar" safe across the Bay ? 



THE LOST LEGION 

There's a Legion that never was 'listed, 

That carries no colours or crest, 
But, split in a thousand detachments, 

Is breaking the road for the rest. 
Our fathers they left us their blessing — 

They taught us, and groomed us, and crammed; 
But we've shaken the Clubs and the Messes 

To go and find out and be damned, 

Dear boys! 

To go and get shot and be damned. 

So some of us chevy the slaver, 

And some of us cherish the black, 
And some of us hunt on the Oil Coast, 

And some on — the Wallaby track: 
And some of us drift to Sarawak, 

And some of us drift up The Fly, 
And some share our tucker with tigers, 
And some with the gentle Masai, 

Dear boys! 
Take tea with the giddy Masai. 

(Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.) 
74 



THE LOST LEGION 7S 

We've painted The Islands vermilion, 

We've pearled on half-shares in the Bay, 
We've shouted on seven-ounce nuggets, 

We've starved on a Kanaka's pay. 
We've laughed at the world as we found it, — 

Its women and cities and men — 
From Say Yid Burgash in a tantrum 

To the smoke-reddened eyes of Loben, 

Dear boys! 

We've a little account with Loben. 

We opened the Chinaman's oil-well, 

But the dynamite didn't agree, 
And the people got up and fan-kwaied us, 

And we ran from Ichang to the sea. 
Yes, somehow and somewhere and always 

We were first when the trouble began, 
From a lottery-row in Manila 

To an I. D. B. race on the Pan, 

Dear boys! 

With the Mounted Police on the Pan. 

We preach in advance of the Army, 

We skirmish ahead of the Church, 
With never a gunboat to help us 

When we're scuppered and left in the lurch. 



76 THE LOST LEGION 

But we know as the cartridges finish 
And we're filed on our last little shelves, 

That the Legion that never was 'listed 
Will send us as good as ourselves, 

(Good men!) 
Five hundred as good as ourselves. 

Then a health (we must drink it in whispers). 

To our wholly unauthorised horde — 
To the line of our dusty foreloopers, 

The Gentlemen Rovers abroad. 
Yes, a health to ourselves ere we scatter, 

For the steamer won't wait for the train. 
And the Legion that never was 'listed 
Goes back into quarters again. 

'Regards ! 
Goes back under canvas again. 

Hurrah! 
The swag and the billy again. 

Here's how! 
The trail and the packhorse again. 

Salue! 
The trek and the lager again. 



THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 

Er-Heb beyond the Hills of Ao-Safai 
Bears witness to the truth, and Ao-Safai 
Hath told the men of Gorukh. Thence the tale 
Comes westward o'er the peaks to India. 

The story of Bisesa, ArmocPs child, — 
A maiden plighted to the Chief in War 
The Man of Sixty Spears who held the Pass 
That leads to Thibet, but to-day is gone 
To seek his comfort of the God called Budh 
The Silent — showing how the Sickness ceased 
Because of her who died to save the tribe. 

Taman is One and greater than us all, 

Taman is One and greater than all Gods: 

Taman is Two in One and rides the sky, 

Curved like a stallion's croup, from dusk to dawn, 

And drums upon it with his heels, whereby 

Is bred the neighing thunder in the hills. 

(Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
77 



78 THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 

This is Taman, the God of all Er-Heb, 

Who was before all Gods, and made all Gods, 

And presently will break the Gods he made, 

And step upon the Earth to govern men 

Who give him milk-dry ewes and cheat his Priests, 

Or leave his shrine unlighted — as Er-Heb 

Left it unlighted and forgot Taman, 

When all the Valley followed after Kysh 

And Yabosh, little Gods but very wise, 

And from the sky Taman beheld their sin. 

He sent the Sickness out upon the hills 

The Red Horse Sickness with the iron hooves, 

To turn the Valley to Taman again. 

And the Red Horse snuffed thrice into the wind, 
The naked wind that had no fear of him; 
And the Red Horse stamped thrice upon the snow, 
The naked snow that had no fear of him; 
And the Red Horse went out across the rocks 
The ringing rocks that had no fear of him; 
And downward, where the lean birch meets the 
• c low 



THE SACRIFICE OF ER-IIEB 79 

And downward, where the grey pine meets the birch, 
And downward, where the dwarf oak meets the pine, 
Till at his feet our cup-like pastures lay. 

That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 
Dropped as a cloth upon a dead man's face, 
And weltered in the valley, bluish-white 
Like water very silent — spread abroad, 
Like water very silent, from the Shrine 
Unlighted of Taman to where the stream 
Is dammed to fill our cattle-troughs — sent up 
White waves that rocked and heaved and then were 

still, 
Till all the Valley glittered like a marsh, 
Beneath the moonlight, filled with sluggish mist 
Knee-deep, so that men waded as they walked. 

That night, the Red Horse grazed above the Dam 
Beyond the cattle-troughs. Men heard him feed, 
And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 

Thus came the sickness to Er-Heb, and slew 
Ten men, strong men, and of the women four; 
And the Red Horse went hillward with the dawn, 
But near the cat tie- troughs his hoof-prints lay. 



8o THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 

That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 

Dropped as a cloth upon the dead, but rose 

A little higher, to a young girl's height; 

Till all the valley glittered like a lake, 

Beneath the moonlight, filled with sluggish mist. 

That night, the Red Horse grazed beyond the Dam 
A stone's throw from the troughs. Men heard him 

feed, 
And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 
Thus came the sickness of Er-Heb, and slew 
Of men a score, and of the women eight, 
And of the children two. 



Because the road 
To Gorukh was a road of enemies, 
And Ao-Safai was blocked with early snow, 
We could not flee from out the Valley. Death 
Smote at us in a slaughter-pen, and Kysh 
Was mute as Yabosh, though the goats were slain; 
And the Red Horse grazed nightly by the stream, 
And later, outward, towards the Unlighted Shrine, 
And those that heard him sickened where they lay. 



THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB Si 

Then said Bisesa to the Priests at dusk, 

When the white mist rose up breast-high and choked 

The voices in the houses of the dead: — 

" Yabosh and Kysh avail not. If the Horse 

" Reach the Unlighted Shrine we surely die. 

"Ye have forgotten of all Gods the Chief 

"Taman ! " Here rolled the thunder through the Hill. 

And Yabosh shook upon his pedestal. 

" Ye have forgotten of all Gods the chief 

" Too long. " And all were dumb save one who cried 

On Yabosh with the Sapphire 'twixt His knees 

But found no answer in the smoky roof 

And, being smitten of the sickness died 

Before the altar of the Sapphire Shrine. 

Then said Bisesa: — "I am near to Death, 

" And have the Wisdom of the Grave for gift 

"To bear me on the path my feet must tread. 

"If there be wealth on earth, then I am rich, 

" For Armod is the first of all Er-Heb ; 

"If there be beauty on the earth," — her eyes 

Dropped for a moment to the temple floor, — 

"Ye know that I am fair. If there be Love, 

"Ye know that love is mine." The Chief in War, 



82 THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 

The Man of Sixty Spears, broke from the press, 

And would have clasped her, but the Priests with- 
stood, 

Saying: — " She has a message from Tainan." 

Then said Bisesa: — " By my wealth and love 

"And beauty, I am chosen of the God 

"Taman." Here rolled the thunder through the 
Hills. 

And Kysh fell forward on the Mound of Skulls. 

In darkness and before our Priests, the maid 

Between the altars, cast her bracelets down, 

Therewith the heavy earrings Armod made, 

When he was young, out of the water-gold 

Of Gorukh — threw the breast-plate thick with jade 

Upon the turquoise anklets — put aside 

The bands of silver on her brow and neck; 

And as the trinkets tinkled on the stones, 

The Thunder of Taman lowed like a bull. 

Then said Bisesa stretching out her hands, 
As one in darkness fearing Devils: — " Help! 
" Priests, I am a woman very weak. 



THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 83 

And who am I to know the will of Gods? 

j Taman hath called me — whither shall I go? " 
The Chief in War, the Man of Sixty Spears 
Howled in his torment fettered by the Priests 
But dared not come to her to drag her forth, 
And dared not lift his spear against the Priests. 
Then all men wept. 

There was a Priest of Kysh 
Bent with a hundred winters, hairless, blind 
And taloned as the great Snow-Eagle is. 
His seat was nearest to the altar-fires, 
And he was counted dumb among the Priests. 
But, whether Kysh decreed, or from Taman 
The impotent tongue found utterance we know 
As little as the bats beneath the eaves. 
He cried so that they heard who stood without; — 
"To the Unlighted Shrine!" and crept aside 
Into the shadow of his fallen God 
And whimpered, and Bisesa went her way. 

That night, the slow mists of the evening dropped, 
Dropped as a cloth upon the dead, and rose 
Above the roofs, and by the Unlighted Shrine 



84 THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 

Lay as the slimy water of the troughs 

When murrain thins the cattle of Er-Heb : 

And through the mist men heard the Red Horse feed. 

In Armod's house they burned Bisesa's dower, 
And killed her black bull Tor, and broke her wheel, 
And loosed her hair, as for the marriage-feast 
With cries more loud than mourning for the dead. 

Across the fields, from Armod's dwelling-place, 

We heard Bisesa weeping where she passed 

To seek the Unlighted Shrine; the Red Horse 

neighed 
And followed her, and on the river-mint 
His hooves struck dead and heavy in our ears. 

Out of the mists of evening, as the star 

Of Ao-Safai climbs through the black snow-blur 

To show the Pass is clear, Bisesa stepped 

Upon the great grey slope of mortised itone, 

The Causeway of Taman. The Red Horse neighed 

Behind her to the Unlighted Shrine — then fled 

North to the Mountain where his stable lies. 



THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 85 

They know who dared the anger of Taman, 

And watched that night above the clinging mists, 

Far up the hill, Bisesa's passing in. 

She set her hand upon the carven door, 
Fouled by a myriad bats, and black with time, 
Whereon is graved the Glory of Taman 
In letters older then Ao-Safai; 
And twice she turned aside and twice she wept, 
Cast down upon the threshold, clamouring 
for him she loved — the Man of Sixty Spears, 
And for her father, — and the black bull Tor 
Hers and her pride. Yea, twice she turned away 
Before the awful darkness of the door, 
And the great horror of the Wall of Man 
Where Man is made the plaything of Taman, 
An Eyeless Face that waits above and laughs. 

But the third time she cried and put her palms 
Against the hewn stone leaves, and prayed Taman 
To spare Er-Heb and take her life for price. 

They know who watched, the doors were rent apart 
And closed upon Bisesa, and the rain 



86 THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 

Broke like a flood across the Valley, washed 
The mist away; but louder than the rain 
The thunder of Taman filled men with fear. 

Some say that from the Unlighted Shrine she cried 

For succour, very pitifully, thrice, 

And others that she sang and had no fear. 

And some that there was neither song nor cry, 

But only thunder and the lashing rain. 

Howbeit, in the morning, men rose up, 
Perplexed with horror, crowding to the Shrine, 
And when Er-Heb was gathered at the doors 
The Priests made lamentation and passed in 
To a strange Temple and a God they feared 
But knew not. 

From the crevices the grass 
Had thrust the altar-slabs apart, the walls 
Were grey with stains unclean, the roof-beams 

swelled 
With many-coloured growth of rottenness, 
And lichen veiled the Image of Taman 
In leprosy. The Basin of the Blood 



THE SACRIFICE OF ER-HEB 87 

Above the altar held the morning sun 
A winking ruby on its heart; below, 
Face hid in hands, the maid Bisesa lay. 

Er-Heb beyond the Hills of Ao-Safai 
Bears witness to the truth, and Ao-Safai 
Hath told the men of Gorukh. Thence the tale 
Comes westward o'er the peaks to India. 



THE DOVE OF DACCA 

The freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower — 
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings — 

And the thorns have covered the city of Gaur. 
Dove — dove — oh, homing dove! 

Little white traitor, with woe on thy wings! 

The Rajah of Dacca rode under the wall; 

He set in his bosom a dove of flight — 
"If she return, be sure that I fall." 

Dove — dove — oh, homing dove! 
Pressed to his heart in the thick of the fight. 

" Fire the palace, the fort, and the keep — 

Leave to the f oeman no spoil at all. 
In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep 

If the dove, if the dove— if the homing dove 
Come and alone to the palace wall." 

The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad- 
The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all. 

Hot from slaughter he stopped at the ford, 
And the dove — the dove — oh, the homing dove! 

She thought of her cote on the palace wall. 

(Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.) 
88 



THE DOVE OF DACCA 89 

She opened her wings and she flew away — 

Fluttered away beyond recall; 
She came to the palace at break of day. 

Dove — dove — oh, homing dove! 
Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall. 

The Queens of Dacca they slept in flame — 

Slept in the flame of the palace old — 
To save their honour from Moslem shame. 

And the dove — the dove — oh, the homing dove! 
She cooed to her young where the smoke-cloud rolled. 

The Rajah of Dacca rode far and fleet, 

Followed as fast as a horse could fly, 
He came and the palace was black at his feet; 

And the dove — the dove — the homing dove, 
Circled alone in the stainless sky. 

So the dove flew to the Rajah's tower — 
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings; 

So the thorns covered the city of Gaur, 
And Dacca was lost for a white dove's wings. 

Dove — dove — oh, homing dove, 
Dacca is lost from the roll of the kings! 



THE EXPLANATION 

Love and Death once ceased their strife 
At the Tavern of Man's Life. 
Called for wine, and threw — alas! — 
Each his quiver on the grass. 
When the bout was o'er they found 
Mingled arrows strewed the ground. 
Hastily they gathered then 
Each the loves and lives of men. 
Ah, the fateful dawn deceived! 
Mingled arrows each one sheaved; 
Death's dread armoury was stored 
With the shafts he most abhorred; 
Love's light quiver groaned beneath 
Venom-headed darts of Death. 

Thus it was they wrought our woe 
At the Tavern long ago. 
Tell me, do our masters know, 
Loosing blindly as they fly, 
Old men love while young men 4ie? 
90 



AN ANSWER 

A Rose, in tatters on the garden path, 
Cried out to God and murmured 'gainst His wrath, 
Because a sudden wind at twilight's hush 
Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush. 
And God, who hears both sun-dried dust and sun, 
Made answer whispering to that luckless one, 
" Sister, in that thou sayest We did not well — 
"What voices heardst thou when thy petals fell?" 
And the Rose answered, "In that evil hour 
U A voice said, ' Father, wherefore falls the flower? 
"'For lo, the very gossamers are still.' 
"And a voice answered, 'Son, by Allah's will!'" 
Then softly as a rain-mist on the sward, 
Came to the Rose the Answer of the Lord: 
" Sister, before We smote the dark in twain, 
"'* Ere yet the stars saw one another plain, 
"Time, tide, and space, We bound unto the task 
"That thou shouldst fall, and such an one should 
ask." 

Whereat the withered flower, all content, 
Died as they die whose days are innocent; 
While he who questioned why the flower fell 
Caught hold of God and saved his soul from Hell. 
(Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.) 
91 



THE GIFT OF THE SEA 

The dead child lay in the shroud, 
And the widow watched beside; 

And her mother slept, and the Channel swept 
The gale in the teeth of the tide. 

But the mother laughed at all. 

"I have lost my man in the sea, 
"And the child is dead. Be still," she said. 

"What more can ye do to me?" 

The widow watched the dead, 

And the candle guttered low, 
And she tried to sing the Passing Song 

That bids the poor soul go. 

And "Mary take you now," she sang, 

"That lay against my heart." 
And "Mary smooth your crib to-night, ,; 

But she could not say "Depart." 
92 



THE GIFT OF THE SEA 93 

Then came a cry from the sea, 
But the sea-rime blinded the glass, 

And ''Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said, 
" 'Tis the child that waits to pass." 

And the nodding mother sighed. 

" ' Tis a lambing ewe in the whin, 
"For why should the christened soul cry out, 

"That never knew of sin?" 

"O feet I have held in my hand, 

"O hands at my heart to catch, 
"How should they know the road to go, 

"And how should they lift the latch?" 

They laid a sheet to the door, 

With a little quilt atop, 
That it might not hurt from the cold or the dirt, 

But the crying would not stop. 

The widow lifted the latch 

And strained her eyes to see, 
And opened the door on the bitter shore 

To let the soul go free. 



94 THE GIFT OF THE SEA 

There was neither glimmer nor ghost, 

There was neither spirit nor spark, 
And " Heard ye nothing, mother?" she said, 

" Tis crying for me in the dark." 

And the nodding mother sighed, 

" ' Tis sorrow makes ye dull; 
"Have ye yet to learn the cry of the tern, 

"Or the wail of the wind-blown gull? " 

" The terns are blown inland, 

"The grey gull follows the plough. 
" 'Twas never a bird, the voice I heard, 

"O mother, I hear it now!" 

"Lie still, dear lamb, lie still; 

"The child is passed from harm, 
"'Tis the ache in your breast that broke your rest 

"And the feel of an empty arm." 

She put her mother aside, 

"In Mary's name let be! 
"For the peace of my soul I must go," she said, 

And she went to the calling sea. 



THE GIFT OF THE SEA 95 

In the heel of the wind-bit pier, 

Where the twisted weed was piled, 
She came to the life she had missed by an hour, 

For she came to a little child. 

She laid it into her breast, 

And back to her mother she came, 
But it would not feed and it would not heed, 

Though she gave it her own child's name. 

And the dead child dripped on her breast, 
And her own in the shroud lay stark; 

And "God forgive us, mother," she said, 
"We let it die in the dark!" 



EVARRA AND HIS GODS 

Read here, 

This is the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
Because the city gave him of her gold, 
Because the caravans brought turquoises, 
Because his life was sheltered by the King, 
So that no man should maim him, none should 

steal, 
Or break his rest with babble in the streets 
When he was weary after toil, he made 
An image of his God in gold and pearl, 
With turquoise diadem and human eyes, 
A Wonder in the sunshine, known afar 
And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with 

pride, 
Because the city bowed to him for God, 
He wrote above the shrine: " Thus Gods are made, 
"And whoso makes them otherwise shall die" 
And all the city praised him. . . . Then he died. 

96 



EVARRA AND HIS GODS 97 

Read here the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
Because the city had no wealth to give, 
Because the caravans were spoiled afar, 
Because his life was threatened by the King, 
So that all men despised him in the streets, 
He hewed the living rock, with sweat and tears, 
And reared a God against the morning-gold, 
A terror in the sunshine, seen afar, 
And worshipped by the King; but, drunk with 

pride, 
Because the city fawned to bring him back, 
He carved upon the plinth: " Thus Gods are made, 
"And whoso makes them otherwise shall die." 
And all the people praised him. . . . Then he 
died. 

Read here the story of Evarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 
Because he lived among a simple folk, 
Because his village was between the hills, 
Because he smeared his cheeks with blood of ewes, 
He cut an idol from a fallen pine, 
Smeared blood upon its cheeks, and wedged a shell 



98 EVARRA AND HIS GODS 

Above its brows for eyes, and gave it hair 
Of trailing moss, and plaited straw for crown. 
And all the village praised him for his craft, 
And brought him butter, honey, milk, and curds. 
Wherefore, because the shoutings drove him mad, 
He scratched upon that log: " Thus Gods are made, 
"And whoso makes them otherwise shall die." 
And all the people praised him. . . . Then he 
died. 

Read here the story ofEvarra — man — 

Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. 

Because his God decreed one clot of blood 
Should swerve one hair's-breadth from the pulse's 

path, 
And chafe his brain, Evarra mowed alone, 
Rag- wrapped, among the cattle in the fields, 
Counting his fingers, jesting with the trees, 
And mocking at the mist, until his God 
Drove him to labour. Out of dung and horns 
Dropped in the mire he made a monstrous God, 
Abhorrent, shapeless, crowned with plain tain tufts, 
And when the cattle lowed at twilight time, 
He dreamed it was the clamour of lost crowds, 



EVARRA AND HIS GODS gg 

And howled among the beasts: "Thus Gods are 

made, 
"And whoso makes them otherwise shall die." 
Thereat the cattle bellowed. . . . Then he died. 

Yet at the last he came to Paradise, 

And found his own four Gods, and that he wrote; 

And marvelled, being very near to God, 

What oaf on earth had made his toil God's law, 

Till God said mocking: "Mock not. These be 

thine." 
Then cried Evarra: "I have sinned!" — "Not so. 
"If thou hadst written otherwise, thy Gods 
"Had rested in the mountain and the mine, 
" And I were poorer by four wondrous Gods, 
"And thy more wondrous law, Evarra. Thine, 
"Servant of shouting crowds and lowing kine." 

Thereat, with laughing mouth, but tear-wet eyes, 
Evarra cast his Gods from Paradise. 



This is the story of Evarra— man — 
M »ke* of Gods in lands bevoitd the sea. 



THE CONUNDRUM OF THE WORKSHOPS 

When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's 

green and gold, 
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched 

with a stick in the mould; 
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was 

joy to his mighty heart, 
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's 

pretty, but is it Art? " 



Wherefore he called to his wife, and fled to fashion 

his work anew — 
The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, most 

dread review; 
And he left his lore to the use of his sons — and that 

was a glorious gain 
When the Devil chuckled "Is it Art?" in the ear of 

the branded Cain. 

ioo 



THE CONUNDRUM 101 

They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench 

the stars apart, 
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks- "It's 

striking, but is it Art? " 
The stone was dropped at the quarry-side and the 

idle derrick swung, 
While each man talked of the aims of Art, and each 

in an alien tongue. 



They fought and they talked in the North and the 

South, they talked and they fought in the West, 
Till the waters rose on the pitiful land, and the poor 

Red Clay had rest — 
Had rest till the dank, blank-canvas dawn when the 

dove was preened to start, 
And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, 

but is it Art?" 



The tale is as old as the Eden Tree— and new as the 

new-cut tooth — 
For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is 

master of Art and Truth; 



io2 THE CONUNDRUM OF 

And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat 

of his dying heart, 
The Devil drum on the darkened pane: " You did it, 

but was it Art? " 



We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the 

shape of a surplice-peg, 
We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the 

yelk of an addled egg, 
We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the 

horse is drawn by the cart ; 
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old "It's 

clever, but is it Art? " 



When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the 

Club-room's green and gold, 
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with 

their pens in the mould — 
They scratch with their pens in the mould of their 

graves, and the ink and the anguish start, 
For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It'f 

pretty, but is it Art? " 



THE WORKSHOPS 103 

Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the 

Four Great Rivers flow, 
And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left 

it long ago, 
And if we could come when the sentry slept and softly 

scurry through, 
By the favour of God we might know as much— as 

our father Adam knew. 



IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE 

In the Neolithic Age savage warfare did I wage 
For food and fame and two- toed horses' pelt; 

I was singer to my clan in that dim, red Dawn of 
Man, 
And I sang of all we fought and feared and felt. 

Yea, I sang as now I sing, when the Prehistoric spring 
Made the piled Biscayan ice-pack split and shove, 

And the troll and gnome and dwerg, and the Gods of 
Cliff and Berg 
Were about me and beneath me and above. 

But a rival of Solutre told the tribe my style was 
outrS — 
By a hammer, grooved of dolomite, he fell. 
And I left my views on Art, barbed and tanged, be- 
neath the heart 
Of a mammothistic etcher at Grenelle. 

Then I stripped them, scalp from skull, and my hunt- 
ing dogs fed full, 
And their teeth I threaded neatly on a thong; 

(Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.) 
104 



IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE 105 

And I wiped my mouth and said, "It is well that 
they are dead, 
"For I know my work is right and theirs was 
wrong." 

But my Totem saw the shame; from his ridgepole 
shrine he came, 
And he told me in a virion of the night:— 
"There are nine and sixty ways of constructing 
tribal lays, 
"And every single one of them is right! " 



Then the silence closed upon me till They put new 
clothing on me 
Of whiter, weaker flesh and bone more frail; 
And I stepped beneath Time's finger once again a 
tribal singer 
And a minor poet certified by Tr — 1. 

Still they skirmish to and fro, men my messmates on 
the snow, 
When we headed off the aurochs turn for turn; 
When the rich Allobrogenses never kept amanuenses, 



io6 IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE 

And our only plots were piled in lakes at Berne. 
Still a cultured Christian age sees us scuffle, squeak, 
and rage, 
Still we pinch and slap and jabber — scratch and 
dirk; 
Still we let our business slide — as we dropped the 
half-dressed hide — 
To show a fellow-savage how to work. 

Still the world is wondrous large, — seven seas from 
marge to marge, — 
And it holds a vast of various kinds of man; 
And the wildest dreams of Kew are the facts of 
Khatmandhu 
And the crimes of Clapham chaste in Martaban. 

Here's my wisdom for your use, as I learned it when 
the moose 
And the reindeer roared where Paris roars to-night: 
There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal 
lays, 
And — every — single — one — of — them — is — right. 



THE LEGEND OF EVIL 



This is the sorrowful story 

Told when the twilight fails 
And the monkeys walk together 

Holding each other's tails. 

"Our fathers lived in the forest, 

" Foolish people were they, 
"They went down to the cornland 

"To teach the farmers to play. 

"Our fathers frisked in the millet, 
"Our fathers skipped in the wheat, 

"Our fathers hung from the branches, 
" Our fathers danced in the street. 

"Then came the terrible farmers, 

"Nothing of play they knew, 
"Only . . . they caught our fathers 
; And set them to labour too! 
(Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
107 



ct 



108 THE LEGEND OF EVIL 

" Set them to work in the cornland 

" With ploughs and sickles and flails, 
"Put them in mud-walled prisons 
"And — cut off their beautiful tails! 

"Now, we can watch our fathers, 
" Sullen and bowed and old, 

" Stooping over the millet, 
" Sharing the silly mould. 

"Driving a foolish furrow, 
"Mending a muddy yoke, 

" Sleeping in mud- walled prisons, 
" Steeping their food in smoke. 

"We may not speak to our fathers, 
"For if the farmers knew 

"They would come up to the forest 
"And set us to labour too!" 

This is the horrible story 

Told as the twilight fails 
&nd the monkeys walk together 

Holding each other's tails. 



THE LEGEND OF EVIL 109 

n 

Twas when the rain fell steady an' the Ark was 
pitched an' ready, 
That Noah got his orders for to take the bastes 
below; 
He dragged them all together by the horn an' hide 
an' feather, 
An' all excipt the Donkey was agreeable to go. 

Thin Noah spoke him fairly, thin talked to him 
sevarely, 
An' thin he cursed him squarely to the glory av the 
Lord: 
"Divil take the ass that bred you, and the greater ass 
that fed you — 
Divil go wid you, ye spalpeen!" an' the Donkey 
went aboard. 

But the wind was always failin', an' 'twas most 
onaisy sailin', 
An' the ladies in the cabin couldn't stand the 
stable air; 



no THE LEGEND OF EVIL 

An' the bastes betwuxt the hatches, they tuk an' died 
in batches, 
Till Noah said: "There's wan av us that hasn't 
paid his fare!" 

For he heard a flusteration wid the bastes av all 
creation — 
The trumpetin' av elephints an' bellowin' av 
whales; 
An' he saw forninst the windy whin he wint to stop 
the shindy 
The Divil wid a stable-fork bedivillin' their tails. 

The Divil cursed outrageous, but Noah said um- 
brageous: 
"To what am I indebted for this tenant-right in- 
vasion?" 
An' the Divil gave for answer: "Evict me if you can, 
sir, 
"For I came in wid the Donkey — on Your Hon- 
our's invitation." 



THE ENGLISH FLAG 

Above the portico a flagstaff bearing the Union Jack, 
remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ul- 
timately when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts, 
and seemed to see significance in the incident. 

— Daily Papers. 

Winds of the World, give answer? They are whim- 
pering to and fro — 

And what should they know of England who only 
England know? — 

The poor little street-bred people that vapour and 
fume and brag, 

They are Hf ting their heads in the stillness to yelp at 
the English Flag! 

Must we borrow a clout from the Boer — to plaster 

anew with dirt? 
An Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward's shirt? 
We may not speak of England: her Flag's to sell or 

share. 
What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World. 

declare! 

in 



ii2 THE ENGLISH FLAG 

The North Wind blew: — "From Bergen my steel- 
shod vanguards go; 

"I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe; 

"By the great North Lights above me I work the will 
of God, 

"That the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger 
fills with cod. 

r 

"I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors 

with flame, 
"Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies 

came; 
"I took the sun from their presence, I cut them 

down with my blast, 
"And they died, but the Flag of England blew free 

ere the spirit passed. 

u The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long 

Arctic night, 
"The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the 

Northern Light: 
"What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my 

bergs to dare, 
" Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it 

is there f " 



THE ENGLISH FLAG 113 

The South Wind sighed: — "From The Virgins my 
mid-sea course was ta'en 

"Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main, 

"Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long- 
backed breakers croon 

"Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked 
lagoon. 

" Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys, 
"I waked the palms to laughter — I tossed the scud 

in the breeze — 
"Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone, 
"But over the scud and the palm-trees an English 

Flag was flown. 

"I have wrenched it free from the halHard to hang 

for a wisp on the Horn; 
"I have chased it north to the Lizard — ribboned and 

rolled and torn; 
"I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a 

hopeless sea; 
"I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the 

slave set free. 



n 4 THE ENGLISH FLAG 

"My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross, 
"Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the 

Southern Cross. 
"What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my 

reefs to dare, 
" Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is 

there!" 

The East Wind roared:— "From the Kuriles, the 

Bitter Seas, I come, 
"And me men call the Home- Wind, for I bring the 

English home. 
"Look — look well to your shipping! By the breath 

of my mad typhoon 
"I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your 

best at Kowloon! 

"The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas 
before, 

"I raped your richest roadstead — I plundered Singa- 
pore! 

"I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she 
rose, 

"And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with 
the startled crows. 



THE ENGLISH FLAG n 5 

' Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake, 
" But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died 

for England's sake — 
"Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or 

maid — 
''Because on the bones of the English the English 
Flag is stayed. 

"The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild- 
ass knows 

"The scared white leopard winds it across the taint- 
less snows. 

* 4 What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun 
to dare, 

"Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is 
there!" 

The West Wind called:— "In squadrons the thought- 
less galleons fly 

"That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred 
people die. 

"They make my might their porter, they make my 
house their path, 

"Till I loose my neck from their rudder and whelm 
them all in my wrath. 



n6 THE ENGLISH FLAG 

"I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn 
from the hole; 

"They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship- 
bells toll, 

"For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud 
with my breath, 

"And they see strange bows above them and the twc 
go locked to death. 

"But whether in calm or wrack- wreath, whether by 

dark or day, 
"I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates 

away, 
"First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky, 
"Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes 

by. 

"The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it — the frozen 

dews have kissed — 
"The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the 

mist. 
"What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my 

breath to dare, 
" Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for 

it is there!" 



"CLEARED" 

(lH MEMORY OP A COMMISSION) 

Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, 
Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the 

dirt\ 
From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my 

song, 
The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous 

wrong. 

Their noble names were mentioned — O the burning 

black disgrace! — 
By a brutal Saxon paper in an Irish shooting-case; 
They sat upon it for a year, then steeled their heart 

to brave it, 
And "coruscating innocence " the learned Judges 

gave it. 

117 



n8 "CLEARED" 

Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime beneath the 

surgeon's knife, 
The honourable gentleman deplored the loss of life; 
Bear witness of those chanting choirs that burk and 

shirk and snigger, 
No man laid hand upon the knife or finger to the 

trigger! 



Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath the 

winking skies, 
Like phoenixes from Phcenix Park (and what lay 

there) they rise ! 
Go shout it to the emerald seas — give word to Erin 

now, 
Her honourable gentlemen are cleared — and this is 

how: — 



They only paid the Moonlighter his cattle-hocking 

price, 
They only helped the murderer with council's best 

advice, 



"CLEARED" IIg 

But— sure it keeps their honour white— the learned 

Court believes 
They never gave a piece of plate to murderers and 

thieves. 



They never told the ramping crowd to card a 

woman's hide, 
They never marked a man for death—what fault of 

theirs he died? — 
They only said "intimidate," and talked and went 

away — 

By God, the boys that did the work were braver men 
than they! 



Their sin it was that fed the fire— small blame to 

them that heard— 
The "bhoys" get drunk on rhetoric, and madden at 

the word — 
They knew whom they were talking at, if they were 

Irish too, 
The gentlemen that lied in Court, they knew and 

well they knew. 



i2o "CLEARED" 

They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of 

jail, 
They only fawned for dollars on the blood-eyed 

Clan-na-Gael. 
If black is black or white is white, in black and white 

it's down, 
They're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to 

the Crown. 



" Cleared," honourable gentlemen. Be thankful it's 

no more: — 
The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at 

your door. 
On you the shame of open shame, on you from North 

to South 
The hand of every honest man flat-heeled across your 

mouth. 



"Less black than we were painted"? — Faith, no 

word of black was said; 
The lightest touch was human blood, and that, ye 

know, runs red. 



"CLEARED" 121 

It's sticking to your fist to-day for all your sneer and 

scoff, 
And by the Judge's well-weighed word you cannot 

wipe it off. 



tlold up those hands of innocence — go, scare your 

sheep together, 
The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the 

old bell-wether; 
And if they snuff the taint and break to find another 

pen, 
Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them 

yours again! 



"The charge is old"? — As old as Cain — as fresh as 

yesterday; 
Old as the Ten Commandments, have ye talked those 

laws away? 
If words are words, or death is death, or powder 

sends the ball, 
You spoke the words that sped the shot — the curse 

be on you all. 



122 "CLEARED" 

"Our friends believe"? Of course they do — as 

sheltered women may; 
But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the 

quivering clay? 
They! — If their own front door is shut, they'll swear 

the whole world's warm; 
What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear 

of harm? 



The secret half a county keeps, the whisper in the 

lane, 
The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the 

broken pane, 
The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the 

honest bees, 
And shows the "bhoys " have heard your talk— what 

do they know of these? 



But you — you know — ay, ten times more; the 

secrets of the dead, 
Black terror on the country-side by word an<f 

whisper bred. 



"CLEARED" j 23 

The mangled stallion's scream at night, the tail- 
cropped heifer's low. 

Who set the whisper going first? You know, and 
well you know! 



My soul! I'd sooner lie in jail for murder plain and 

straight, 
Pure crime I'd done with my own hand for money, 

lust, or hate, 
Than take a seat in Parliament by fellow-felons 

cheered, 
While one of those "not provens" proved me cleared 

as you are cleared. 



Cleared— you that "lost" the league accounts— go, 

guard our honour still, 
Go, help to make our country's laws that broke God's 

law at will — 4 
One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal 

"strike again"; 
The other on your dress-shirt-front to show your 

heart is clant. 



124 "CLEARED" 

If black is black or white is white, in black and white 

it's down, 
You're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the 

Crown. 
If print is print or words are words, the learned 

Court perpends: 
We are not ruled by murderers, but only—by thefr 

friends. 



AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 

Now this is the tale of the Council the German 

Kaiser decreed, 
To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak 

in their need 
He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and 

pant, and sweat, 
That the straw might be counted fairly and the tally 

of bricks be set. 

The Lords of Their Hands assembled; from the East 

and the West they drew — 
Baltimore, Lille, and Essen, Brummagem, Clyde, and 

Crewe. 
And some were black from the furnace, and some 

were brown from the soil, 
And some were blue from the dye- vat; but all were 

wearied of toil. 

i«5 



126 AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 

And the young King said, "I have found it, the road 

to the rest ye seek; 
"The strong shall wait for the weary, the hale shall 

halt for the weak; 
"With the even tramp of an army where no man 

breaks from the line, 
"Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the bond ol 

brotherhood — sign! " 

The paper lay on the table, the strong heads bowed 

thereby, 
And a wail went up from the peoples: "Ay, sign — 

give rest, for we die! " 
A hand was stretched to the goose-quill, a fist was 

cramped to scrawl, 
When — the laugh of a blue-eyed maiden ran clear 

through the council-hall. 

And each one heard Her laughing as each one saw 

Her plain — 
Saidie, Mimi, or Olga, Gretchen, or Mary Jane. 
And the Spirit of Man that is in Him to the light of 

the vision woke; 
And the men drew back from th© paper, as a Yankee 

delegate spoke; — 



AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 127 

"There's a girl in Jersey City who works on the 

telephone; 
" We're going to hitch our horses and dig for a house 

of our own, 
"With gas and water connections, and steam-heat 

through to the top; 
"And, W. Hohenzollern, I guess I shall work till I 

drop." 

And an English delegate thundered: "The weak an' 

the lame be blowed! 
"I've a berth in the Sou'- West workshops, a home in 

the Wandsworth Road; 
"And till the 'sociation has footed my buryin' bill, 
" I work for the kids an' the missis. Pull up ! I'll be 

damned if I will!" 

And over the German benches the bearded whisper 

ran: — 
"Lager, der girls und der dollars, dey makes or dey 

breaks a man. 
"If Schmitt haf collared der dollars, he collars der 

girl deremit; 
" But if Schmitt bust in der pizness, we collars der girl 

from Schmitt." 



128 AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 

They passed one resolution: "Your sub-committee 

believe 
"You can lighten the curse of Adam when you've 

lightened the curse of Eve. 
"But till we are built like angels — with hammer and 

chisel and pen, 
"We'll work for ourself and a woman, for ever and 

ever. Amen." 

Now this is the tale of the Council the German 

Kaiser held — 
The day that they razored the Grindstone, the day 

that the Cat was belled, 
The day of the Figs from Thistles, the day of the 

Twisted Sands, 
The day that the laugh of a maiden made light of the 

Lords of Their Hands. 



TOMLINSON 

Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in 

Berkeley Square, 
And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by 

the hair — 
A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far 

away, 
Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of 

the Milky Way, 
Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and 

drone and cease, 
And they came to the Gate within the Wall where 

Peter holds the keys. 
"Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer 

loud and high 
"The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye 

came to die — 
"The good that ye did for the sake of men in little 

earth so lone!" 

129 



130 TOMLINSON 

And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as a 

rain-washed bone. 
"O, I have a friend on earth," he said, "that was my 

priest and guide, 
"And well would he answer all for me if he were by 

my side." 
— "For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall b& 

written fair, 
"But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in 

Berkeley Square: 
"Though we called your friend from his bed this 

night, he could not speak for you, 
" For the race is run by one and one and never by two 

and two." 
Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain 

was there, 
For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw 

that his soul was bare: 
The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him 

like a knife, 
And Tomlinson took up his tale and spoke of his good 

in life. 
"This I have read in a book," he said, "and that was 

told to me, 



TOMLINSON 131 

"And this I have thought that another man. thought 

of a Prince in Muscovy." 
The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade 

him clear the path, 
And Peter twirled the jangling keys in weariness and 

wrath. 
"Ye have read, ye have heard, he have thought," he 

said, "and the tale is yet to run: 
"By the worth of the body that once ye had, give 

answer — what ha' ye done? " 
Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little 

good it bore, 
For the Darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and 

Heaven's Gate before: 
"Oh, this I have felt, and this I have guessed, and 

this I have heard men say, 
"And this they wrote that another man wrote of a 

carl in Norroway." 
"Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good 

lack! Ye have hampered Heaven's Gate; 
" There's little room between the stars in idleness to 

prate ! 
"Oh, none may reach by hired speech of neighbour, 

priest, and kin, 



132 TOMLINSON 

" Through borrowed deed to God's good need that 
lies so fair within; 

"Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for 
doom has yet to run, 

"And . . . the faith that ye share with Berkeley- 
Square uphold you, Tomlinson ! " 



The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by sun 

they fell 
Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rux 

the mouth of Hell: 
The first are red with pride and wrath, the next are 

white with pain, 
But the third are black with clinkered sin that cannot 

burn again: 
They may hold their path, they may leave their 

path, with never a soul to mark, 
They may burn or freeze, but they must not cease in 

the scorn of the Outer Dark. 
The Wind that blows between the worlds, it nipped 

him to the bone, 
And he yearned to the flare of Hell-gate there ?s the 

light of his own hearth-stone. 



TOMLINSON 133 

The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the des- 
perate legions drew, 

But he caught the hasting Tomlinson and would not 
let him through. 

"Wot ye the price of good pit-coal that I must pay? " 
said he, 

"That ye rank yourseP so fit for Hell and ask no 
leave of me? 

%f I am all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that ye should 
give me scorn, 

**'For I strove with God for your First Father the day 
that he was born. 

" Sit down, sit down upon the slag, and answer loud 
and high 

''The harm that ye did to the Sons of Men or ever 
you came to die." 

And Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against 

the night 
The belly of a tortured star blood-red in Hell-Mouth 

light; 
And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw be- 
neath his feet 
The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hell- 
Mouth heat 



i 3 4 TOMLINSON 

"Oh, I had a love on earth," said he, " that kissed me 

to my fall, 
"And if ye would call my love to me I know she 

would answer all." 
— "All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written 

fair, 
"But now ye wait in Hell-Mouth Gate and not in 

Berkeley Square: 
"Though we whistled your love from her bed to- 
night I trow she would not run, 
"For the sin ye do by two and two ye must pay foi 

one by one!" 
The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him 

like a knife, 
And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sin 

in life : 
"Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice 

at the grip of the Grave, 
"And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that 

men might call me brave." 
The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and set it 

aside to cool: 
"Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the 

hide of a brain-sick fool? 



TOMLINSON 135 

"I see no worth in the hobnailed mirth or the jolt- 
head jest ye did 

"That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleep- 
ing three on a grid." 

Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and there 
was little grace, 

For Hell-Gate filled the houseless Soul with the Fear 
of Naked Space. 

"Nay, this I ha' heard," quo' Tomlinson, "and this 
was noised abroad, 

"And this I ha' got from a Belgian book on the word 
of a dead French lord." 

—"Ye ha' heard, ye ha' read, ye ha' got, good lack! 
And the tale begins afresh— 

" Have ye sinned one sin for the pride o' the eye or the 
sinful lust of the flesh? " 

Then Tomlinson he gripped the bars and yammered 
"Let me in — 

"For I mind that I borrowed my neighbour's wife to 
sin the deadly sin." 

The Devil he grinned behind the bars, and banked 
the fires high: 

"Did ye read of that sin in a book?" said he; and 
Tomlinson said "Ay!" 



i 3 6 TOMLINSON 

The Devil he blew upon his nails, and the little devils 

ran; 
And he said, "Go husk this whimpering thief that 

comes in the guise of a man : 
" Winnow him out 'twixt star and star, and sieve his 

proper worth: 
"There's sore decline in Adam's line if this be spawn 

of earth." 
Empusa's crew, so naked-new they may not face the 

fire, 
But weep that they bin too small to sin to the height 

of their desire, 
Over the coal they chased the Soul, and racked it al] 

abroad, 
As children rifle a caddis-case or the raven's foolisk 

hoard. 
And back they came with the tattered Thing, aa 

children after play, 
And they said: "The soul that he got from God h6 

has bartered clean away. 
"We have threshed a stook of print and book, and 

winnowed a chattering wind 
"And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his wa 

cannot find: 



TOMLINSON i37 

"We have handled him, we have dandled him, we 

have seared him to the bone, 
"And sure if y tooth and nail show truth he has no soul 

of his own." 
The Devil he bowed his head on his breast and 

rumbled deep and low: — 
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid 

him go. 
"Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him 

place, 
"My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to 

my face; 
"They'd call my house a common stews and me a 

careless host, 
" And— I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake 

of a shiftless ghost." 
The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that 

prayed to feel the flame, 
And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of 

his own good name: 
"Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye 

down to fry: 
"Did ye think of that theft for yourself?" said he; 

and Tomlinson said "Ay!" 



138 TOMLINSON 

The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart 

was free from care: 
"Ye have scarce the soul of a louse," he said, "but 

the roots of sin are there, 
"And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord 

alone. 
"But sinful pride has rule inside — and mightier than 

my own. 
"Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his 

priest and whore: 
"Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd 

torture sore. 
"Ye are neither spirit nor spirk," he said; "ye are 

neither book nor brute — 
" Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of 

Man's repute. 
"I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock 

your pain, 
"But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye come 

back again. 
"Get hence, the hearse is at your door — the grim 

black stallions wait — 
"They bear your clay to place to-day. Speed, lest 

ye come too late! 



TOMLINSON i 39 

"Go back to Earth with a lip unsealed—go back 

with an open eye, 
"And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye 

come to die: 
" That the sin they do by two and two they must pay 

for one by one — 
' And ... the God that you took from a printed 

book be with you, Tomlinson!" 



BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 



To T. A. 

/ have made for you a song, 
And it may be right or wrong. 

But only you can tell me if it's true; 
I have tried for to explain 
Both your pleasure and your pain. 

And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you I 
Oh, there'll surely come a day 
When they'll grant you all your pay, 

And treat you as a Christian ought to do; 
So, until that day comes round, 
Heaven keep you safe and sound, 

And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you. 



R. K. 



DANNY DEEVER 

et What are the bugles blowin' for? " said Files-on- 

Parade. 
"To turn you out, to turn you out," the Colour- 
Sergeant said. 
"What makes you look so white, so white?" said 

Files-on-Parade. 
"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Colour- 
Sergeant said. 

For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can 

hear the Dead March play, 
The regiment's in 'ollow square — they're 

hangin' him to-day; 
They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his 

stripes away, 
An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the 
mornin'. 

H3 



144 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said 

Files-on-Parade. 
"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Colour- 
Sergeant said. 
"What makes that front-rank man fall down?" says 

Files-on-Parade. 
"A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Colour- 
Sergeant said. 
They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are 

marchin' of 'im round, 
They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin 

on the ground; 
An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' 

shootin' hound — 
O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the 
mornin' ! 

"'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on- 
Parade. 

"'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Colour- 
Sergeant said. 

"I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times." said Files-on- 
Parade. 

" 'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Colour-Sergeant 
said. 



DANNY DEEVER 14S 

They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must 

mark 'im to 'is place, 
For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' — you must 

look 'im in the face; 
Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's 

disgrace, 
While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the 



mornin'. 



"What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files-on- 

Parade. 
"It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Colour- 
Sergeant said. 
" What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files- 

on-Parade. 
"It's Danny's soul that's passin' now," the Colour- 
Sergeant said. 
For they're done with Danny Deever, you 

can 'ear the quickstep play, 
The regiment's in column, an' they're 

marchin' us away; 
Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll 

want their beer to-day, 
After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. 



TOMMY 

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer, 
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats 

here." 
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit 

to die, 
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I: 

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 

"Tommy, go away"; 
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when 

the band begins to play, 
The band begins to play, my boys, the band 

begins to play, 
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the 

band begins to play. 

I went into a theatre as sober as could be, 
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for 
me; 

14.6 



TOMMY 147 

They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls, 
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me 
in the stalls! 

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 

"Tommy, wait outside"; 
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the 

trooper's on the tide, 
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the 

troopship's on the tide, 
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the 

trooper's on the tide. 

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while 
you sleep 

Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starva- 
tion cheap; 

An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' 
large a bit 

Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit. 

Then it's Tommy this, an' To nmy that, 
an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?" 

But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the 
drums begin to roll, 



i 4 8 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums 

begin to roll, 
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the 

drums begin to roll. 

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no black- 
guards too, 

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; 

An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy 
paints: 

Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster 
saints; 

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 

"Tommy, fall be'ind," 
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when 

there's trouble in the wind ; 
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's 

trouble in the wind, 
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when 

there's trouble in the wind. 

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, 

an' all: 
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. 



TOMMY 149 

Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it 
to our face 

The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's dis- 
grace. 

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 

" Chuck him out, the brute!" 
But it's "Saviour of 'is country," when the 

guns begin to shoot; 
Yes it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' 

anything you please; 
But Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool — you bet 

that Tommy sees! 



"FUZZY-WUZZY" 

SOUDAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE 

We've fought with many men acrost the seas, 

An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not 
The Pay than an' the Zulu an' Burmese; 

But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot. 
We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im: 

'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses. 
'E cut our sentries up at Sua&iw, 

An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces 

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy- Wuzzy, at your 'ome 
in the Soudan; 

You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first- 
class figh tin' man; 

We gives you your certificate, an' if you want 
it signed 

We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you when- 
ever you're inclined. 
150 



"FUZZY-WUZZY" 151 

We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills, 

The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, 
The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills, 

An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style: 
But all we ever got from such as they 

Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; 
We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say, 
But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oiler. 

Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the 

missis and the kid; 
Our orders was to break you, an' of course we 

went an' did. 
We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 

'ardly fair; 
But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy 
you broke the square. 

'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own, 

'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, 
So we must certify the skill 'e's shown 

In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords: 
When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush 

With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear, 
An' 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush 

Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year. 



i 5 2 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your 

friends which are no more, 
If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 

'elp you to deplore; 
But give an' take's the gospel, an* we'll call 

the bargain fair, 
For if you 'ave lost more than us, you 

crumpled up the square! 

'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, 

An', before we know, Vs 'ackin' at our 'ead; 
'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive, 

An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead. 
'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb! 

'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, 
'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn 
For a Regiment o' British Infantree! 

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome 

in the Soudan; 
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first- 
class fightin' man; 
An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 

'ayrick 'ead of 'air — 
You big black boundin' beggar — for you 
broke a British squarei 



SOLDIER, SOLDIER 

" Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 

Why don't you march with my true love? " 

"We're fresh from off the ship an' 'e's maybe give the 

slip, 
An' you'd best go look for a new love." 

New love ! True love ! 

Best go look for a new love, 

The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better 

dry your eyes, 
An' you'd best go look for a new love. 

" Soldier, Soldier, come from the wars, 

What did you see o' my true love? " 

"I seed 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green, 

An' you'd best go look for a new love." 

"Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 
Did ye see no more o' my true love? " 

153 



i 5 4 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

"I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly — 
But you'd best go look for a new love." 

"Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 

Did aught take 'arm to my true love? " 

"I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so 

white — 
An' you'd best go look for a new love." 

" Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 

I'll up an' tend to my true love! " 

" 'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead, 

An' you'd best go look for a new love." 

"Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 

I'll down an' die with my true love! " 

"The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 

Mm — 
An' you'd best go look for a new love." 

" Soldier, soldier, come from the wars. 
Do you bring no sign from my true love? " 
"I bring a lock of 'air that 'e alius used to wear, 
An' you'd best go look for a new love." 



SOLDIER, SOLDIER 155 

" Soldier, soldier, come from the wars, 

O then I know it's true I've lost my true love! " 

"An' I tell you truth again — when you've lost the 

feel o' pain 
7ou'd best take me for your true love." 

True love ! New love ! 

Best take 'im for a new love. 

The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better 

dry your eyes, 
An : you'd best take 'im for your true love. 



SCREW-GUNS 

Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the 

mornin' cool, 
I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old 

brown mule, 
With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar 

forgets 
It's only the pick of the Army that handles the dear 

little pets— 'Tss! Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns, the screw- 
guns they all love you! 

So when we call round with a few guns, o' 
course you will know what to do — hoo! 
hoo! 

Jest send in your Chief an' surrender— it's 
worse if you fights or you runs: 

You can go where you please, you can skid up 
the trees, but you don't get away from 
the guns. 

J 56 



SCREW-GUNS is7 

They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly 

we goes where they ain't: 
We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to 

the stick o' the paint: 
We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the 

Afreedeeman fits, 
For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns 

that are built in two bits— 'Tss ! 'Tss ! 
For all you love the screw-guns, etc. 

If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 

'im 'ow to behave; 
If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 

'im into 'is grave. 
You've got to stand up to our business an' spring 

without snatchin' or fuss. 
D'you say that you sweat with the field guns? By 

God, you must lather with us — 'Tss! 'Tss! 
For you all love the screw-guns, etc. 

The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a- 

moanin' below, 
We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, we're out 

on the rocks an' the snow, 



i 5 8 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries 

away to the plains 
The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules — the jinglety- 

jink o' the chains — 'Tss! 'Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns, etc. 

There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', an' a 

wheel on the edge o' the Pit, 
An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a 

beggar can spit: 
With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, an' 

the sun off the snow in your face, 
An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old 

gun in 'er place — 'Tss! 'Tss! 

For you all love the screw-guns, etc. 

Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, snifnn' the 
mornin' cool, 

I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old 
brown mule. 

The monkey can say what our road was — the wild- 
goat 'e knows where we passed. 

Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! Out drag- 
ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast— 'Tss! Tss.' 



SCREW-GUNS 159 

For you all love the screw-guns — the screw- 
guns they all love you! 

So when we take tea with a few guns, o ? course 
you will know what to do — hoo ! hoo ! 

Just send in your Chief and surrender — it's 
worse if you fights or you runs: 

You may hide in the caves, they'll be only 
your graves, but you can't get away from 
the guns! 



CELLS 

I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a 

button-stick: 
I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a 

little sick, 
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'rals Guard: I've 

made the cinders fly, 
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink and 

blacking the Corporal's eye. 

With a second-hand overcoat under my head, 
And a beautiful view of the yard, 
Oh, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!" 
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard — 
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! 
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 
For "drunk and resisting the Guard." 

(Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
160 



CELLS 161 

I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen 

beer, 
But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that 

brought me here. 
'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed 

my nose in the dirt; 
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock and the 

best of the Corp'ral's shirt. 



I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the 

public road, 
And Lord knows where, and I don't care, my belt and 

my tunic goed, 
They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I 

used to wear, 
But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I 

think he'll keep it there! 



My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the 

barrack-yard, 
It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room— it's that that 

cuts so hard. 



162 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure 

abstain, 
But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know I'll 

do it again! 

With a second-hand overcoat under my head 
And a beautiful view of the yard, 
Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C. B. 
For "drunk and resisting the Guard." 
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard — 
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! — 
So it's pack-drill with me and a fortnight's C. B. 
For " drunk and resisting the Guard." 



GUNGA DIN 

You may talk o' gin and beer 

When you're quartered safe out 'ere, 

An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; 

But when it comes to slaughter 

You will do your work on water, 

An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it. 

Now in Injia's sunny clime, 

Where I used to spend my time 

A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen, 

Of all them black-faced crew 

The finest man I knew 

Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. 

He was "Din! Din! Din! 

You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din! 

Hi! slippery hitherao! 

Water, get it! Panee lao ! l 

You squigy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.' , 

The uniform 'e wore 
Was nothin' much before, 

1 Bring water swiftly. 
163 



164 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, 

For a piece o' twisty rag 

An' a goatskin water-bag 

Was all the field-equipment e' could find. 

When the sweatin' troop-train lay 

In a sidin' through the day, 

Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows 

crawl, 
We shouted " Harry By!" 1 
Till our throats were bricky-dry, 
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. 

It was "Din! Din! Din! 

You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? 

You put some juldee 2 in it 

Or I'll marrow 3 you this minute 

If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din! 

'E would dot an' carry one 

Till the longest day was done 
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. 

If we charged or broke or cut, 

You could bet your bloomin' nut, 
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. 

1 Mr. Atkins' equivalent for "O brother." 
*Be quick. 'Hit you. 



GUNGA DIN 165 

With 'is mussick 1 on 'is back, 

'E would skip with our attack, 
An* watch us till the bugles made "Retire," 

An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 

'E was white, clear white, inside 
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! 

It was "Din! Din! Din!" 
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green, 

When the cartridges ran out, 

You could hear the front-files shout, 
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!" 

I sha'n't forgit the night 

When I dropped be'ind the fight 
With a bullet where my belt plate should 'a' been. 

I was chokin' mad with thirst, 

An' the man that spied me first 
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din* 

'E lifted up my 'ead, 

An' he plugged me where I bled, 
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: 

It was crawlin' and it stunk, 

But of all the drinks I've drunk, 

I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. 
Water skins. 



166 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

It was "Din! Din! Din!" 
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; 

'E's chawin' up the ground, 

An' 'e's kickin' all around: 
For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din! 



'E carried me away 
To where a dooli lay, 
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 
'E put me safe inside, 
An' just before 'e died: 
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din. 
So I'll meet 'im later on 
At the place where 'e is gone — 
Where it's always double drill and no canteen; 
'E'll be squattin' on the coals, 
Givin' drink to poor damned souls, 
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din! 
Yes, Din! Din! Din! 
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! 

Though I've belted you and flayed you, 
By the living Gawd that made you, 
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din! 



OONTS 

(NORTHERN INDIA TRANSPORT TRAIN) 

Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 

him to perspire? 
It isn't standin' up to charge nor lyin' down to fire: 
But it's everlastin' waitin' on a everlastin' road 
For the commissariat came! an' 'is commissariat load 
O the oont, 1 O the oont, O the commissariat 
oont! 
With 'is silly neck a-bobbin' like a basket 
full o' snakes; 
We packs 'im like an idol, an' you ought to 
'ear 'im grunt, 
An' when we gets 'im loaded up 'is blessed 
girth-rope breaks. 

Wot makes the rear-guard swear so 'ard when night 

is drorin' in, 
An' every native follower is shiverin' for 'is skin? 

1 Camel — oo is pronounced like u in "bull," but by Mr. At- 
kins to rhyme with " front," 

167 



i68 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

It ain't the chanst o' being rushed by Paythans from 

the 'ills, 
It's the commissariat camel puttin' on 'is bloomin , 
frills! 
O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy, scary 
oont! 
A-trippin' over tent-ropes when we've got 
the night alarm! 
We socks 'im with a stretcher-pole an' 'eads 
'im off in front, 
An' when we've saved 'is bloomin' life 'e 
chaws our bloomin' arm. 

The 'orse 'e knows above a bit, the bullock's but a 

fool, 
The elephant's a gentleman, the battery-mule's a 

mule; 
But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an' 

done, 
'E's a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan-child in one. 
O the oont, O the oont, the Gawd-forsaken 
oont! 
The lumpy-'umpy 'ummin'-bird a-singjn' 
where 'e lies, 



OONTS 169 

'E's blocked the whole division from the rear- 
guard to the front, 
An' when we get him up again — the beggar 
goes an' dies! 

'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight — 'e smells most 

awful vile; 
'E'll lose 'isself for ever if you let 'im stray a mile; 
'E's game to graze the 'ole day long an' 'owl the 'ole 

night through, 
An' when 'e comes to greasy ground 'e splits 'isself in 
two. 
O the oont, O the oont, O the fioppin', 
droppin' oont! 
When 'is long legs give from under an' 'is 
meltin' eye is dim, 
The tribes is up be'ind us, and the tribes is out 
in front — 
It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites 
an' crows for 'im. 

So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads 

is blind, 
An' when we sees the camp in front an' 'ears the 

shots be'ind, 



i 7 o BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

Ho then we strips 'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is 

past: 
'E thinks on us that used 'im so, and gets revenge at 
last. 

O the oont, O the oont, the floatin', bloatin' 
oont! 
The late lamented camel in the water-cut 'e 
lies; 
We keeps a mile be'ind 'im an' we keeps a 
mile in front, 
But 'e gets into the drinkin'-casks, and 
then o' course we dies. 



LOOT 

If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the 
keeper's back, 
If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line, 
If you've ever crammed a gander in your bloomin' 
'aver sack, 
You will understand this little song o' mine. 
But the service rules are 'ard, and from such we are 
debarred, 
For the same with English morals does not suit. 
(Cornet: Toot! toot!) 
W'y, they call a man a robber if 'e stuffs 'is marchin' 
clobber 
With the— 
(Chorus.) Loo ! loo ! Lulu ! lulu ! Loo ! loo ! Loot ! 
loot! loot! 

Ow the loot! 
Bloomin' loot! 
That's the thing to make the boys git up an' 
shoot! 

171 



17* BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

It's the same with dogs an' men, 
If you'd make 'em come again 
Clap 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! 
Loot! 
(ff) Whoopee! Tear 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! 
Loot! loot! loot! 

If you've knocked a nigger edgeways when 'e's 
thrustin' for your life, 
You must leave 'im very careful where 'e fell; 
An' may thank your stars an' gaiters if you didn'; 
feel 'is knife 
That you ain't told off to bury 'im as well. 
Then the sweatin' Tommies wonder as they spade 
the beggars under 
Why loo tin' should be entered as a crime; 
So if my song you'll 'ear, I will learn you plain an' 
clear 
'Ow to pay yourself for fightin' overtime 
(Chorus.) With the loot, etc. 

Now remember when you're 'acking round a gilded 
Burma god 
That 'is eyes is very often precious stones; 



LOOT 173 

An' if you treat a nigger to a dose o' cleanin'-rod 

'E's like to show you everything 'e owns. 
When 'e won't prodooce no more, pour some water on 
the floor 
Where you 'ear it answer 'ollow to the boot 
{Cornet: Toot! toot!)— 
When the ground begins to sink, shove your baynick 
down the chink, 
An' you're sure to touch the — 
(Chorus.) Loo ! loo ! Lulu ! Loot ! loot ! loot ! 
Ow the loot! etc. 



When from 'ouse to 'ouse you're 'unting, you must 
always work in pairs — 
It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find— 
For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty 
stairs, 
An' a woman comes and clobs 'im from be'ind. 
When you've turned 'em inside out, an' it seems be- 
yond a doubt 
A& if there weren't enough to dust a flute 
(Cornet: Toot! toot!)— 



174 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

Before you sling your 'ook, at the 'ouse-tops take a 
look, 
For it's underneath the tiles they 'ide the loot. 
(Chorus.) Ow the loot, etc. 

You can mostly square a Sergint an' a Quartermaster 
too, 
If you only take the proper way to go; 
/ could never keep my pickin's, but I've learned you 
all I knew — 
An' don't you never say I told you so. 
An' now I'll bid good-by, for I'm gettin' rather dry 5 
An' I see another tunin' up to toot (Cornel: Toot! 
toot)—! 
So 'ere's good-luck to those that wears the Widow's 
clo'es, 
An' the Devil send f em all they want o' loot! 
(Chorus.) Yes, the loot, 
Bloomin' loot. 
In the tunic an' the mess- tin an' the boot! 
It's the same with dogs an' men, 
If you'd make 'em come again 
(fff) Whoop 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! 

Loot! loot! loot! 
Heeya! Sick 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! 
loot! loot! 



"SNARLEYOW" 

This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps 
Which is first among the women an' amazin' first 

in war; 
An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember 

now, 
But Two's off-lead 'e answered to the name o* 

Snarleyow. 

Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; 
Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; 
But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog 
Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped 
dog! 

They was movin' into action, they was needed very 

sore, 
To learn a little schoolm' to a native army corps, 

i7S 



176 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckhV 

down the brow, 
When a tricky, trundlin' round-shot give the knock 

to Snarleyow. 

They cut 'im loose an' left 'im — 'e was almost tore in 

two — 
But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse 

should do; 
'E went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's 

Brother squeals: 
"Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow — 'is 'ead's between 

'is 'eels!" 

The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was 
goin' round, 

An' there aren't no "Stop, conductor!" when a 
batt'ry's changin' ground; 

Sez 'e: "I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels, 

But I couldn't pull up, not for you — your 'ead be- 
tween your 'eels!" 

'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' 

shell 
A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell; 



"SNARLEYOW" 177 

An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the 

limber wheels, 
There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead between 

'is 'eels. 

Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very 

plain, 
"For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out 

o' pain." 
They saw 'is wounds was mortial, an' they judged 

that it was best, 
So they took an' drove the limber straight across 'is 

back an' chest. 

The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' 
grunt, 

But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to 
"Action front!" 

An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Mon- 
day head 

'Twas juicier for the niggers when the case begun to 
spread. 

The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen: 

You 'avn't got no families whenservin' of the Queen — 



178 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

You* aven't got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or 

sons — 
If you want to win your battles take an' work your 

bloomin' guns! 

Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; 
Dc wn in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; 
But down in the lead with the wheel at tht 

flog 
Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped 

dog! 



THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR 

'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor 

With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead? 
She 'as ships on the foam — she 'as millions at 'ome, 

An' she pays us poor beggars in red. 
(Ow, poor beggars in red!) 
There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses, 

There's 'er mark on the medical stores — 
An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind 

That takes us to various wars. 
(Poor beggars! — barbarious wars!) 



Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor, 
An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns, 
The men an' the 'orses that makes up the 

forces 
0' Missis Victorier's sons. 

(Poor beggars! Victorier's sons!) 
179 



180 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor, 

For 'alf o' Creation she owns: 
We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the 
flame, 
An' we've salted it down with our bones. 

(Poor beggars! — it's blue with our bones!) 
Hands off o' the sons of the Widow, 
Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, 
For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors 
frown 
When the Widow at Windsor says "Stop"! 
(Poor beggars! — we're sent to say "Stop "!) 

Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow, 
From the Pole to the Tropics it runs — 

To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' 
the tile, 

An' open in form with the guns. 

(Poor beggars! — it's always the guns!) 

We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor, 

It's safest to leave 'er alone: 
For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land 

Wherever the bugles are blown. 

(Poor beggars! — an' don't we get blown!) 



THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR 181 

Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin', 
An' flop round the earth till you're dead; 

But you won't get away from the tune that they play 
To the bloomin' old Rag over'ead. 
(Poor beggars!— it's 'ot over'ead!) 

Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow 
Wherever, 'owever they roam. 

'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require 
A speedy return to their 'ome. 

(Poor beggars! — they'll never see 'ome!) 



BELTS 

There was a row in Silver Street that's near to 

Dublin Quay, 
Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree; 
It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark: 
The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst 

the Park. 

For it was " Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one 

for you ! " 
An' it was " Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done 

for you!" 
buckle an' tongue 
Was the song that we sung 
From Harrison's down to the Park! 

There was a row in Silver Street — the regiments was 

out, 
They called us "Delhi Rebels," an' we answered 

" Threes about!" 

182 



BELTS 183 

That drew them like a hornet's nest— we met them 

good an' large, 
The English at the double an' the Irish at the 

charge. 

Then it was: Belts — 

There was a row in Silver Street— an' I was in it too % 
We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went 

whirraru! 
I misremember what occurred, but subsequint the 

storm 
A Freeman's Journal Supplemint was all my uniform. 

O it was : Belts- 
There was a row in Silver Street— they sent the Polis 

there, 
The English were too drunk to know, the Irish didn't 

care; 
But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous 

rose, 
Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was 

tatthered clo'es. 

For it was: Belts— 



184 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

There was a row in Silver Street — it might ha' raged 

till now, 
But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody 

knew how; 
'Twas Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the 

red blood run: 
An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun. 
While it was: Belts — 



There was a row in Silver Street — but that put down 

the shine, 
Wid each man whisperin' to his next: "'Twas never 

work o' mine!" 
We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street 

we bore him, 
The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys 

were sorry for him. 

When it was: Belts — 



There was a row in Silver Street — it isn't over yet, 
For half of us are under guard wid punishments to 
get; 



BELTS 185 

Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie: 
There was a row in Silver Street— begod, I wonder 
why! 
But it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one 

for you!" 
An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done 

for you!" 
O buckle and tongue 
Was the song that we sung 
From Harrison's down to the Park! 



THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER 

When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East 
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast, 
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased 
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier, 
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, 
So-oldier of the Queen! 

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day, 
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay, 
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may: 
A soldier what's fit for a soldier. 
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier. 

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, 
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your 

guts- 
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts — 
An' it's bad for the young British soldier. 
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier. 
186 



THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER 187 

When the cholera comes — as it will past a doubt — 
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout, 
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out, 

An' it crumples the young British soldier. 
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier. . . 

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead: 
You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said: 
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead, 
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier. 
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier. . . 

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, 
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind; 
Be handy and civil and then you will find 

That it's beer for the young British soldier. 
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier. 

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old — 
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told — 
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold, 
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier, 

'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier. . . 



1 88 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loth 
To shoot when you catch 'em — you'll swing, on my 

oath!— 
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them 
both, 
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier. 
Curse, curse, curse o' a soldier. . . 

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck, 
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck, 
Be thankful you're livin', an trust to your luck 
And march to your front like a soldier. 
Front, front, front like a soldier. . . 

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, 
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch; 
She's human as you are — you treat her as sich, 

An' she'll fight for the young British soldier. 
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier. . . 

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine, 
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line; 
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine, 
For noise never startles the soldier. 

Start-, start-, startles the soldier. . . 



THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER 189 

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white, 
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight: 
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight, 
And wait for supports like a soldier. 
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier. . . 

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's 

plains, 
And the women come out to cut up what remains, 
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains 
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier. 
Go, go, go like a soldier, 
Go, go, go like a soldier, 
Go, go, go like a soldier, 
So-oldier of the Queen! 



MANDALAY 

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to 
the sea, 

There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she 
thinks o' me; 

For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple- 
bells they say: 

"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back 
toMandalay!" 

Come you back to Mandalay, 

Where the old Flotilla lay; 

Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from 

Rangoon to Mandalay, 
On the road to Mandalay, 
Where the flyin'-nshes play, 
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer 

China 'crost the Bay! 

'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, 
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat— jes' the same as 
Theebaw's Queen, 

190 



MANDALAY . 191 

An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white 

cheroot, 
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's 

foot: 

Bloomin' idol made o' mud — 

What they called the Great Gawd Budd — 

Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 

'er where she stud! 
On the road to Mandalay, etc. 

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was 

droppin' slow, 
She'd git her little banjo an' she'd sing " Kulla-lo-lo! " 
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my 

cheek 
We uster watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin* 

teak. 

Elephints a-pilin' teak 

In the sludgy, squdgy creek, 

Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 

'arf afraid to speak! 
On the road to Mandalay, etc. 



i 9 2 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

But that's all shove be'ind me — long ago an* fur 

away, 
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to 

Mandalay; 
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year 

soldier tells: 
'If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 

'eed naught else." 

No ! you won't 'eed nothin' else 

But them spicy garlic smells, 

An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the 

tinkly temple-bells; 
On the road to Mandalay, etc. 

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin' 
stones, 

An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in 
my bones; 

Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to 
the Strand, 

An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they under- 
stand? 

Beefy face an' grubby 'and — 
Law! wot do they understand? 



MANDALAY 193 

Fve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, 

greener land! 
On the road to Mandalay, etc. 

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is 

like the worst, 
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a 

man can raise a thirst; 
For the temple-bells are callin', and it's there that I 

would be — 
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the 

sea. 

On the road to Mandalay, 
Where the old Flotilla lay, 
With our sick beneath the awnings when we 

went to Mandalay! 
Oh the road to Mandalay, 
Where the flyin'-fishes play, 
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer 

China 'crost the Bay! 



TROOPIN' 

(our army in the east) 

Troopin', troopin', troopin' to the sea: 

'Ere's September come again — the six-year men are 

free. 
O leave the dead be'ind us, for they cannot come 

away 
To where the ship's a-coalin' up that takes us 'ome to. 

day. 

We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, 

Our ship is at the shore, 

An' you must pack your 'aversack, 

For we won't come back no more. 

Ho, don't you grieve for me, 

My lovely Mary- Ann, 

For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit 

As a time-expired man! 

IQ4 



TROOPIN' 195 

The Malabar's in 'arbour with the Jumner at 'er tail, 
An' the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders for to sail. 
Ho! the weary waitin' when on Khyber 'ills we lay, 
But the time-expired's waitin' for 'is orders 'ome to- 
day. 

They'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an' 
wet an' rain,. 

All wearin' Injian cotton kit, but we will not com- 
plain; 

They'll kill us of pneumonia — for that's their little 
way — 

But damn the chills and fever, men, we're goin' 
'ome to-day! 

Troopin', troopin', winter's round again! 

See the new draf's pourin' in for the old campaign; 

Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your 

pay— 
What's the last from Lunnon, lads? We're goin' 

there to-day. 

Troopin', troopin', give another cheer — 

'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer; 



x 9 6 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

The Colonel an' the regiment an' all who've got to 

stay, 
Gawd's mercy strike 'em gentle — Whoop! we're goin' 

'ome to-day. 

We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, 

Our ship is at the shore, 

An' you must pack your 'aversack, 

For we won't come back no more. 

Ho, don't you grieve for me, 

My lovely Mary-Ann, 

For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit 

As a time-expired man. 



THE WIDOW'S PARTY 

"Where have you been this while away, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
Out with the rest on a picnic lay, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
They called us out of the barrack-yard 
To Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard, 
And you can't refuse when you get the card, 

And the Widow gives the party. 
(Bugle.) Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara! 

"What did you get to eat and drink, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
Standing water as thick as ink, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
A bit o' beef that were three year stored, 
A bit o' mutton as tough as a board, 
And a fowl we killed with a sergeant's sword, 

When the Widow give the party. 

(Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
197 



198 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

"What did you do for knives and forks, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
We carries 'em with us wherever we walks, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
And some was sliced and some was halved, 
And some was crimped and some was carved, 
And some was gutted and some was starved, 

When the Widow give the party. 



"What ha' you done with half your mess, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
They couldn't do more and they wouldn't do less 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
They ate their whack and they drank their fill, 
And I think the rations has made them ill, 
For half my comp'ny's lying still 

Where the Widow give the party. 



"How did you get away — away, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
On the broad o' my back at the end o' the day, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 



THE WIDOW'S PARTY 199 

I corned away like a bleedin' toff, 
For I got four niggers to carry me off, 
As I lay in the bight of a canvas trough, 

When the Widow give the party. 

"What was the end of all the show, 

Johnnie, Johnnie?" 
Ask my Colonel, for I don't know, 

Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! 
We broke a King and we built a road — 
A court-house stands where the reg'ment goed. 
And the river's clean where the raw blood flowed 

When the Widow give the party. 
(Bugle.) Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara! 



FORD O' KABUL RIVER 

Kabul town's by Kabul river — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
There I lef ' my mate for ever, 
Wet an' drippin' by the ford. 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
There's the river up and brimmin', an' there's 
'arf a squadron swimmin' 
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 

Kabul town's a blasted place — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
'Strewth I shan't forget 'is face 
Wet an' drippin' by the ford! 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they 
will surely guide you 
'Cross the ford of Kabul river in the dark. 
200 



FORD 0' KABUL RIVER 201 

Kabul town is sun and dust — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
I'd ha' sooner drownded fust 
'Stead of 'im beside the ford. 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
You can 'ear the 'orses threshin', you can 'ear the 
men a-splashin', 
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 

Kabul town was ours to take — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
I'd ha' left it for 'is sake — 
'Im that left me by the ford. 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
It's none so bloomin' dry there; ain't you never 
comin' nigh there, 
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark? 

Kabul town'll go to hell — 

Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
'Fore I see him 'live an' well — 

'Im the best beside the ford. 



»o2 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, for their boots'll 
pull 'em under, 
By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 

Turn your 'orse from Kabul town — 
Blow the bugle, draw the sword — 
Im an' 'arf my troop is down, 
Down an' drownded by the ford. 
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, 
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! 
There's the river low an' fallin', but it ain't no 
useo' callin' 
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. 



GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 

To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the 
damned, 
To my brethren in their sorrow overseas, 
Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, ma- 
chinery crammed, 
And a trooper of the Empress, if you please. 
Yea, a trooper of the forces who has run his own six 
horses, 
And faith he went the pace and went it blind, 
And the world was more than kin while he held the 
ready tin, 
But to-day the Sergeant's something less than kind. 
We're poor little lambs who've lost our way, 

Baa! Baa! Baa! 
We're little black sheep who've gone astray, 

Baa — aa — aa! 
Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree 
Damned from here to eternity, 
God ha' mercy on such as we, 
Baa! Yah! Bah! 
(Copyright 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
203 



204 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

Oh, it's sweet to sweat through stables, sweet to 
empty kitchen slops, 
And it's sweet to hear the tales the troopers tell, 
To dance with blowzy housemaids at the regimental 
hops, 
And thrash the cad who says you waltz too well. 
Yes, it makes you cock-a-hoop to be "Rider" to your 
troop, 
And branded with a blasted worsted spur, 
When you envy, Oh, how keenly, one poor Tommy 
being cleanly 
Who blacks your boots and sometimes call you 
"Sir." 
If the home we never write to, and the oaths we never 
keep, 
And all we know most distant and most dear, 
Across the snoring barrack-room return to break our 
sleep, 
Can you blame us if we soak ourselves in beer? 
When the drunken comrade mutters and the great 
guard-lantern gutters 
And the horror of our fall is written plain, 
Every secret, self-revealing on the aching white- 
washed ceiling, 
Do you wonder that we drug ourselves from pain? 



GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 205 

We have done with Hope and Honour, we are lost to, 
Love and Truth, 
We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung, 
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our 
youth. 
God help us, for we knew the worst too young! 
Our shame is clean repentance for the crime that 
brought the sentence, 
Our pride it is to know no spur of pride, 
And the Curse of Reuben holds us till an alien turf 
enfolds us 
And we die, and none can tell Them where we died. 
We're poor little lambs who've lost our way, 

Baa! Baa! Baa! 
We're little black sheep who've gone astray, 

Baa — aa — aa! 
Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree, 
Damned from here to Eternity, 
God ha' mercy on such as we, 
Baa! Yah! Bah! 



ROUTE MAROON' 

We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains, 
A little front o' Christmas time an' just be'ind the 

Rains, 
Ho! get away, you bullock-man, you've 'eard the 

bugle blowed, 
There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk 
Road; 

With its best foot first 

And the road a-sliding past, 

An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly 

like the last; 
While the Big Drum says, 
With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!" — 
"Kiko kissywarsti don't you hams her argy- 
jow?" 

Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire when you 

see, 
There's the peacock round the corner an' the monkey 

up the tree, 

206 



ROUTE MARCHIN' 207 

An' there's that rummy silver grass a-wavin' in the 

wind, 
An' the old Grand Trunk a-trailin' like a rifle-sling 

be'ind. 
While it's best foot first, etc. 

At half-past five's Revelly, an' our tents they down 

must come, 
Like a lot of button mushrooms when you pick 'em 

up at 'ome. 
But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column starts, 
While the women and the kiddies sit an' shiver in the 

carts. 
And it's best foot first, etc. 

Oh, then it's open order, an' we lights our pipes an* 

sings, 
An' we talks about our rations an' a lot of other thing 

things, 
And we thinks o' friends in England, an' we wonders 

what they're at, 
An' 'ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat. 1 
An' it's best foot first, etc. 

Thomas's first and firmest conviction is that he is a pro- 
found Orientalist and a fluent speaker of Hindustani. As a 
tjoatter of fact, he depends largely on the sign-language. 



2 o8 BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS 

It's none so bad o' Sunday, when you're lyin' at your 

ease, 
To watch the kites a-wheelin' round them feather- 

'eaded trees, 
For although there ain't no women, yet there ain't no 

barrick-yards, 
So the orricers goes shoo tin' an' the men they plays at 

cards. 
Till it's best foot first, etc. 



So 'ark an 'eed you rookies, which is always grum- 

blin' sore, 
There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to 

Cawnpore; 
And if your 'eels are blistered an' they feels to 'urt 

like 'ell 
You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will 

make 'em well. 
For it's best foot first, etc. 

We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand, 
Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and 
the Band. 



ROUTE MARCH1N' 309 

Ho! get away, you bullock-man, youVe 'eard the 

bugle blowed, 
There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk 
Road. 
With its best foot first 
And the road a-sliding past, 
An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly 

like the last; 
While the Big Drum says, 
With 'is " rowdy-dowdy-dow" — 
"Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argyjow ? m 

1 Why don't you get on? 



SHILLIN' A DAY 

My name is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly 

From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore, ' 

Hong-Kong and Peshawur, 

Lucknow and Etawah, 

And fifty-five more all endin' in "pore." 

Black Death and his quickness, the depth and the 

thickness, 
Of sorrow and sickness I've known on my way, 
But I'm old and I'm nervis, 
I'm cast from the Service, 
And all I deserve is a shillin' a day. 

(Chorus.) Shillin' a day 

Bloomin' good pay — 

Lucky to touch it, a shillin' a day! 

Oh, it drives me half crazy to think of the days I 
Went slap for the Ghazi my sword at my side, 

(Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
210 



SHILLIN' A DAY 211 

When we rode Hell-for-leather 

Both squadrons together, 

That didn't care whether we lived or we died. 

But it's no use desparin', my wife must go charm' 

An' me commissairin' the pay-bills to better, 

So if me you be'old 

In the wet and the cold, 

By the Grand Metropold won't you give me a letter? 

(Full Chorus.) Give 'im a letter — 
Can't do no better 
Late Troop-Sergeant Major an' — 

runs with a letter! 
Think what 'e's been, 
Think what 'e's seen, 

Think of his pensions an' 

Gawd save the Queen! 



L'ENVOI 

There's a whisper down the field where the year has 
shot her yield, 
And the ricks stand grey to the sun, 
Singing: — "Over then, come over, for the bee has 
quit the clover, 
And your English summer's done." 

You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind, 

And the thresh of the deep-sea rain; 

You have heard the song — how long! how 

long? 
Pull out on the trail again! 

Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass. 

We've seen the seasons through, 

And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own 

trail, the out trail, 
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail — the trail 

that is always new. 

(Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co.) 
212 



L'ENVOI 213 

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun 

Or South to the blind Horn's hate; 
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay, 

Or West to the Golden Gate; 

Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass, 

And the wildest tales are true, 

And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own 

trail, the out trail, 
And life runs large on the Long Trail — the 

trail that is always new. 

The days are sick and cold, and the skies are grey and 
old, 
And the twice-breathed airs blow damp; 
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea 
roll 
Of a black Bilbao tramp; 

With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass, 

And a drunken Dago crew, 

And her nose held down on the old trail our 

own trail, the out trail 
From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail — the trail 

that is always new. 



?i4 I/ENYOI 

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake, 

Or the way of a man with a maid; 
But the sweetest way to me is a ship's upon the sea 

In the heel of the North-East Trade. 

Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass, 

And the drum of the racing screw, 

As she ships it green on the old trail, our own 

trail, the out trail, 
As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail — the 

trail that is always new? 

See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the 
fore, 
And the fenders grind and heave, 
And the derricks clack and grate as tjie tackle hooks 
the crate, 
And the fall-rope whines through the sheave; 

It's " Gang-plank up and in," dear lass, 
It's "Hawsers warp her through!" 
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our 

own trail, the out trail, 
We're backing down on the Long Trail — the 

trail that is always new. 



L'ENVOI 215 

Oh, the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us 
tied, 
And the syrens hoot their dread ! 
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless viewless 
deep 
To the sob of the questing lead! 

It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass, 

With the Gunfleet Sands in view, 

Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail, 

our own trail, the out trail, 
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail— 
the trail that is always new. 

Oh, the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt 
of light 
That holds the hot sky tame, 
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet- 
powdered floors 
Where the scared whale flukes in flame! 

Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass, 

Her ropes are taunt with the dew, 

For we're booming down on the old trail, our 

own trail, the out trail, 
We're sagging south on the Long Trail— the 
trail that is always new. 



2i6 L'ENVOI 

Then home, get her home where the drunken rollers 
comb, 
And the shouting seas drive by, 
And the engines stamp and ring and the wet bows 
reel and swing, 
And the Southern Cross rides high! 

Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass, 

That blaze in the velvet blue. 

They're all old friends on the old trail, our own 

trail, the out trail, 
They're God's own guides on the Long Trail— 

the trail that is always new. 

Fly forward, my heart, from the Foreland to the 
Start— 

We're steaming all too slow, 
And it's twenty thousand miles to our little lazy isle 

Where the trumpet-orchids blow! 

You have heard the call of the off-shore wind 
And the voice of the deep-sea rain — 
You have heard the song — how long! how long? 
Pull out on the trail again! 



L'ENVOI 217 

The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass, 

And the Deuce knows what we may do — 

But we're back once more on the old trail, our own 

trail, the out trail, 
We're down, huil-doWn on the Long Trail — the trail 
that is always new. 




THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 



G74 89 








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